


Isala Arla

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [44]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish, F/M, Orlais, The Dales, The Fade, occasional smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a conflict arises between a Dalish clan and one of the Inquisition’s allies, Isii is tasked with acting as their negotiator. With Solas at her side, she takes it as an opportunity to get away from Skyhold and reconnect with her heritage. She expects it to be a relatively simple, non-violent mission. She should know by now that life rarely goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Weeks after Adamant, before leaving for the Arbor Wilds. Set after the fics Simple Pleasures and Some Choice Passages.

_Emma solas._  
 _Emma ena souveri suledin_  
 _Sahlin ar ven ma vir, ma aravel_  
 _In Elvhenan_  
 _In solas vhen’alas_  
 _Arlathvhen_  
 _Dar’en isala atisha_  
 _Dar’en isala arla._

_I am proud_  
 _I appear weary but am able to endure._  
 _Now I go down my path, on my journey of great purpose_  
 _In the place belonging to our people,_  
 _In the proud land of our race,_  
 _For the love of the elves._  
 _We are in need of peace._  
 _We are in need of a home._  
 _-Translated from a Dalish poem of unknown origin_

***

It felt much like falling, but with purpose.

There was a boundlessness, a sensation he had not felt in a long time, no longer held to the narrow parameters of weak flesh and petty magic. Movement was effortless, fluid, unrestrained. The Fade bent before him, arcing, twisting, giving way to his will as he walked – no – _hunted_ , stalking with soundless steps.

He was himself again.

His lips curled, teeth gleaming. There was a heady quality to this feeling, slipping back into the familiar skin, letting himself experience his senses how he once used to, heightened and indulgent. He had forgotten what it was like to truly take in scent, to be able to taste the buzzing of the Fade on his tongue.

He felt alive again.

He could hear the voices. They echoed, ringing, distant, _familiar_. He loped toward the sound, drawn to it, pursued by it. The din formed words, ancient and half-remembered. The song soured in note as he neared, the chorus of voices choking on bitterness, one rising above them. A deep, commanding voice. One he would never forget.

 _“We are trapped. We are dying. Betrayer_.”

A low, guttural hum rumbled in his throat as his eyes narrowed.

_“We trusted you. You were our kin.”_

“This isn’t real,” Fen’Harel growled. The Fade shifted and changed. A forest now, deep and ancient, jagged shards of mirrored glass embedded in each trunk, hanging from the branches, sputtering shafts of light dancing as they caught the dim beams of the sun. In each reflection he could see the ghostly echo of hands pressing from within, scratching, clawing in desperation with bloodied fingers.

This was a dream. Nothing more. A dream stitched together from memories. He could control this.

The voice rose in anger, seething and dangerous, demanding justice. Demanding vengeance.

_“You have destroyed everything we built. And for what purpose? Those who call themselves elves now are a mockery. An imitation. You saved nothing.”_

He could hear the groaning creak of a bowstring pulled taut, the sound setting his eyes wide as he whipped around.

She stood there, lips pulled back in a cruel grin, her steady bow following the path of his movement. Ruddy hair the color of drying blood fell from its binding, drifting into the path of her green eyes as they locked onto him, gleaming with sadistic amusement. She still bore that familiar scar, the one he gave her in a time long past, arching the corner of her lip up through her cheek – the ragged mockery of a smile played out on flesh.

He bore his teeth, both elf and beast in one, and her laughter reverberated low in her chest.

“ _No more running, harellan._ ”

_It is just a memory, twisted by the Fade. Focus your thoughts. This is not real._

“ _You ruin everything you touch, Wolf.”_ She murmured gleefully. _“This will never change._ ” Andruil dragged the nock closer to her mangled cheek, her tongue slowly dragging across her lip. _“I’m going to enjoy this.”_ She purred.

His eye shifted over to the movement behind her. Ghilan’nain stood a few paces back, pale white hair falling over dark amber skin, eyes clouded and unseeing, her expression one of pained sadness and pity. Her lips parted to speak as Andruil’s bow cracked, the arrow whistling through the air.

“Solas.”

The sound of her voice made him flesh again, scattering the Fade like smoke caught in a gale.

In the brief haze of waking, Fen’Harel did not recognize his new name until she repeated it.

He opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath, suddenly aware of the ache in his neck. He scanned the curved walls of the rotunda, reacquainting himself with the physical plane. He was laying on the couch in his study. The muffled murmurings of people working drifted down from the upper floors of the tower, indicating it was already late morning. Isii leaned over him, a strand of cream colored hair falling over her brow as she gently gripped his shoulder. Though she smiled, there was a touch of concern that creased the corners of her lashes. “You didn’t stay in here all night, did you?”

He sat up, his neck crackling as he stretched it, grunting. “No. I did not sleep well. I chose to return to my work early this morning rather than continue in what was a futile effort to rest. I must have dozed off.”

She let out a small, sympathetic hum, kneeling down in front of him. She pressed her forehead to his, nuzzling his nose with her own as her hands found his neck, her fingers pressing into the stiff muscles. He let out a hiss so she lightened her pressure, prodding him with her fingertips. His eyes closed.

“Bad dream, vhenan?”

“Of sorts.”

Her hands brought out an exquisite ache from his neck, warm and leaking tension. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Simply bad memories. I would not trouble you with them.” He fell silent then, taking in this quiet moment, enjoying her closeness. Her hands were strong for their delicate shape, her touch reassuring as it massaged away the strain. It was moments like this he wanted to memorize; document for a later time. He sighed when she pulled away, bringing her lips to his forehead.

“Better?”

“Much.” He said, stretching the newly relaxed muscles. “You have my thanks. Was there something you needed?”

She sat back on her heels, her lip briefly pinched between her teeth. “Yes, actually. I have a favor to ask of you.”

His brow lifted. “Something from your tone tells me I won’t like it.”

“You won’t.” She said, smiling apologetically.

He took a deep breath, straightening his posture. “What do you need?”

“There’s a special task I need to take care of personally. Diplomatic, mostly. It’s of a… _delicate nature_.” She said cautiously.

“Go on.”

“We’ve received a request from Lord Allaire of Orlais for assistance. He’s one of our supporters, though a minor one from what Josephine tells me. He’s given soldiers and coin to our cause in the past. Now, he’s claiming that he needs reinforcements to help take care of a land dispute. The implication is that he lacks the manpower to handle the issue himself because he already gave us the majority of his men.”

“I do not see why this is a mission to handle personally. Certainly Cullen can spare a few men to offer aid.”

“I would rather we try to settle this with negotiation rather than force. I’ve had Josephine reach out to him with an offer to assist in reaching a compromise and he has agreed, albeit reluctantly.”

His eyes narrowed. “Since when do we send our Inquisitor out to negotiate land disputes?”

She paused. “Since the dispute is with a Dalish clan.” She caught the shift in his expression, her tone flattening. “He is claiming they are squatters and wants them expelled. As you can guess, that usually doesn’t end well for the Dalish. From the information I have on clan Alasan, they were recently displaced from their usual campgrounds. Josephine thinks there may be a chance to create an arrangement to allow them to stay if I act as negotiator.”

There was sense in the plan. The Dalish were more likely to listen to another of their kind and an Orlesian would think twice before dismissing the demands of the Inquisitor. Still, he did not like this. “Why do you need me?”

Her lips quirked. “The Dalish are less likely to trust me if the company I keep is not elven. And I certainly can’t take Sera.” He laughed, despite himself. “Besides,” she said, grinning as she shifted herself up on her knees, bringing her face closer to his, “it would be just the two of us. You’d have me all to yourself. Certainly that can’t be so bad.”

His voice was warm and low when he responded. “I suppose not.”

She placed her hands on his knees, balancing herself as her nails lightly scratched against the fabric. “It could take weeks before we’re back at Skyhold.” She tilted her head as if to kiss him, but did not close the distance. “Alone. Sharing a tent. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty good to me.”

He let out a slow, controlled breath as she grinned. It would not be the first time they had shared a tent. That was not uncommon for them now. They had slept beside one another on a number of occasions while traveling. But he knew that was not what she was implying.

The two of them had been doing this dance for weeks. While their relationship was certainly not lacking in intimacy or passion, he still had not taken her up on the offer to bed her. It certainly was not from a lack of desire. He wanted her with a desperation that was difficult to govern. But he could not help but think it would hurt her in the end, when he finally told her the truth.

He distanced himself from her advances, leaning back against the couch. “My previous experiences with the Dalish showed me no evidence that they would see me with any less contempt than your other companions. Possibly more so, as I am an elf and yet still unlike them.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not intending to try and pass me off as one of them, are you? I refuse to wear a vallaslin, even temporarily.”

She peered at him, perplexed, before laughing softly. “You do realize I should find the mere suggestion insulting, right?” She lifted herself from the floor, curling up onto the couch beside him. “The vallaslin is not some costume, Solas. It’s a mark of maturity, a pledge to serve the elven gods. Gods _you_ don’t believe in.” She added, poking him in the chest. “You’re just lucky I find your blasphemy strangely endearing, ma sa’lath.” She shook her head. “No. I had no intention of passing you off as Dalish. The clan is still more likely to trust a flat-ear than someone who is not an elf.” He frowned. She leaned forward, nuzzling his neck apologetically. “No offense, vhenan. I think your ears are quite nicely peaked.” She added with a giggle, nipping the tip of his ear with her teeth.

She sat back, looking at him expectantly. “So? Will you come with me?”

“I suppose you could simply command me to accompany you.” He said coolly. “That is within your power as Inquisitor.”

She smirked, her brow lifting. “True. But I never took you for someone who liked taking orders.”

He tried to bite back the sly grin that threatened to curl his lips. “I am at your disposal, vhenan. Whatever you need, I will provide for you.”

Her smile deepened. “A bold promise to make, sa’lath.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips softly to his neck. “And convenient for me as I have one more thing to ask of you.” She heard the disapproving grunt and laughed softly, peppering kisses between her words. “A small thing. Just a little favor. It will not tax you, I promise.”

“What is it?”

“I need your help in making a gift for the Keeper. A bit of a peace offering. Josephine is already acquiring something for me to give Lord Allaire, but it is not as easy for a shem to find a proper gift for one of my own. I’ve put our bowyer to work, but I cannot simply give him a human made bow. It would be of little practical value to him and I don’t have ironbark nor a bowyer who knows how to use it. But if it were customized, decorated, I could give it as a ceremonial piece. Something distinctly Dalish in design. I will sketch out precisely what needs to be done, but my artistry is rudimentary at best.”

“So you want me to paint a bow for the Keeper?” He asked flatly, unamused.

She draped her arms across his shoulders. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” She added sweetly.

He let out a slow sigh, a small smile warming his features as he looked at her. “I will do as you ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of a long form multi-chapter Solas x Isii fic. (Not kidding about length - there are roughly 30 chapters in my outline.) I hope to update on a weekly basis - probably Thursdays or Fridays.  
> ***  
> Translations:  
> harellan - traitor  
> sa'lath - my one/only love


	2. Chapter 2

The weather was calm the day they left Skyhold. The air was crisp but did not bite at the skin as it often did. It was amusing to watch her as she braced herself against the cold. Even after all of these months living in the mountains, she still grumbled about the climate. They made easy work of the pathway down the mountainside, her mood lightening as they turned west into the more temperate forests of the Dales. Travelling in this manner felt familiar. Comfortable. Solas felt more like he had when he travelled alone, now that they lacked a group of chattering companions filling the air with their endless need to speak.

He was not alone, however, and the addition of her presence was a comfort to him. Admittedly, he found an intense pleasure in leisurely walking the trail with her at his side. The feel of her hand in his own. The idle conversation. Even the periods of silence that fell between them soothed him. He had not anticipated how much he would enjoy this time alone together, and he looked forward to the many hours of this that still lay ahead of them.

When she suggested they pause to rest, he agreed. It felt good to lower the weight of his pack from his shoulders; to sit and rest his back against a nearby tree. She approached him, grinning as she set down her things, parting his knees to kneel between them. She pressed her lips to his before he could speak, hands cupping his jaw. It was not a hungry or aggressive kiss. It demanded nothing more of him than his attention. He surrendered to it, his fingers sinking into the hair at her nape. Her kiss was sweet. Gentle. Much like the earliest of their kisses; the ones stolen in the brief moments they found themselves alone, when convenient excuses allowed them to break away from the rest of their party. It was easy to forget himself in moments like this – to think of nothing but her and this moment, to pretend for a time that all other matters were insignificant in comparison to his feelings for her.

She pulled away slowly, a soft blush on her lips as she smiled. “I thought the point in stopping was to rest.” He said.

“I am resting.” She murmured, leaning in to capture his mouth once more. There was a leisurely quality to her touch as he pulled her closer. There were no interruptions here, no possible discovery, no threat of teasing jibes or prying questions. It was one of the truest moments of privacy they had allowed themselves since this all began.

Outside of the Fade, at least.

“See?” She whispered as she pulled away, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I told you travelling with me would have its benefits.”

“Too many diversions like this and we won’t make it to our destination.”

She laughed softly, pressing her face to his shoulder. “Just let me enjoy this. It is so rare I get to be with you and not have to run around being everyone’s Inquisitor.” She dragged the tip of her nose against his throat, her breath ghosting across his skin. “No war table meetings to get dragged away to, no prying eyes when we try to find a moment alone together…”

“No books being thrown at us.”

She giggled, trailing her lips up to his ear. “That was just the one time. And I made certain to scold Dorian appropriately.”

“So I heard.”

They allowed themselves time there, nestled underneath the tree, wrapped up in one another. More time than they should have, he knew, but he didn’t care. He would gladly accept additional days on their trip if it meant he could savor every caress, every one of her small murmured encouragements, every press of her lips to his skin. When she finally pulled away from him, when they both reluctantly agreed it was time to gather their things, their lips were swollen from kisses and his blood was singing with desire. But now was not the time. This was not the place.

If there ever would be a time or a place for such things.

She stooped down to pick up her belongings and it took everything in him not to press himself to her, to pull her upright and bury his face against her throat. Yet, he resisted. He let the urge pass. “Thank you again for this.” She said, picking up the Keeper’s bow. “I’m certain the Keeper will love this. Even if it’s not ironbark.”

His mood soured slightly, but he tried to not let it show, answering with a short hum as he secured his pack across his shoulders once more. Her fingers ran over the bow, her eyes inspecting the detail once more, a soft look of admiration on her face. “Honestly, I think this is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen you paint.”

_A pity it is not of a better subject matter,_ he thought drearily as she secured it to her pack.

He should not have been surprised by the design she chose for the bow. He knew of the Keepers and their attachment to this notion that they needed to stand guard over their clans. What villainous threat could possibly be worse than the dreaded Fen’Harel?

Still, he voiced no objection when she presented him with her sketch. How could he? What possible reason could he have to argue with the task after agreeing to it? It would simply raise questions he had no intention of answering. So he painted the image diligently, scowling all the while. His brush took careful note of the fearsome wolf, black and snarling, red eyes gleaming. The Keeper, holding out his staff, surrounded in a halo of light, projecting a barrier against the monster’s jagged teeth. The image stretched and spun around the body of the bow, scrolling and spiraling until every inch of the wood was covered. A layer of sealant added a fine sheen that highlighted the depth of the color. It would have been a beautiful piece if it had not depicted a vicious lie.

She slipped her hand comfortably into his as they continued down the path. “I figured we’d head into the Dalish camp first. I want to get the approval of the Keeper before we meet with Allaire to finalize the terms of his offer. It may mean going back and forth between them a few times, but this way I can pay my respects. I hope you don’t mind if our trip is extended a little bit.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I do not mind.”

“I’m sure we’ll find ways to pass the time.” She said, her ears shifting slightly as she grinned. “I have a pack of cards with me in case you’re up for a round of Wicked Grace later.”

“Gambling no longer holds the allure for me that it once did.”

“That’s not what I heard from Blackwall.” Once his name passed her lips, her smile faded, her gaze drifting. “I suppose I should get used to calling him Rainier now.”

“I’d imagine he would prefer it if you didn’t.” He glanced over, seeing her brow tightening. “Do his past transgressions still concern you?”

“It’s not that, really.” She said, her eyes lowering to the pathway. “I know he can be a good man. He has been nothing but kind to me and he has dedicated himself wholeheartedly to what we are trying to accomplish with the Inquisition. The mistakes of his past do not define who he is today.” She looked up at Solas, peering at him. “Does that sound foolish to say so?”

Solas paused, thinking. “I suppose there is wisdom in that.”

“He accepts that what he did was wrong and he wants to make things right. But how can he even begin to make something like that right?”

“He cannot. He chose to take innocent lives as part of a petty political gambit that he was not even truly a part of. He used the men who trusted him as his weapon and tarnished everything they stood for. Such deeds cannot be easily wiped away.”

“Do you think I was wrong in letting him stay?” She asked.

“It is not for me to say. There is no simple answer to be found concerning Rainier. If you had allowed him to die for his crimes, then you would have had to disregard the good he has done under the guise of Blackwall. Your ruling would say that his attempt at redemption was judged and found lacking. And yet, in letting him stay, you declare his past as an acceptable loss and place more importance on the man he has tried to be since.”

She let out a sigh, shaking her head. “I’ve been running it over in my mind, trying to think of what he should have done to make things better. Ultimately, he did the only thing he could. He tried to face punishment and I took that away from him.”

“You gave him a second chance to be the person he wishes he were.” Solas reasoned. “There is value in such chances. I personally believe one should face such matters head-on, to correct them rather than flee. But I cannot judge him for that decision. The temptation to walk away from one’s past is strong when that history is stained with nothing but regret.”

“In a strange way, I respect him. He did everything he could to be a better person, in the end. I just…” She paused, frowning. “I just wish he had told me sooner. I thought he trusted me. I thought he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t have him killed or sent away when I learned the truth. That’s the part that upsets me the most, I guess. I wish he had told me directly, rather than running away. It made it worse to have to find out the truth like that.”

Solas merely nodded quietly, keeping his eyes on the path ahead.

***

He was weary by the time they made camp, eager to stretch out on his bedroll once they finished setting up their tent. She teased him for it, jokingly calling him an old man, but he merely smiled through closed eyes as she curled up beside him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Hamin atisha, vhenan.” She murmured before leaving him to rest.

Sleep came easily and his descent into the Fade was an uncontrolled fall into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Hamin atisha, vhenan – rest peacefully, my heart
> 
> ***
> 
> _Since this chapter is fairly short (and mostly fluffy) there is a good chance I will also be releasing Chapter 3 this week. So keep an eye out._
> 
> _[The book-throwing incident is a reference to this prompt fill.](http://geeky-jez.tumblr.com/post/108227172973/solas-and-lavellan-basorexia-urge-to-kiss) Well, actually I wrote this chapter before I filled that prompt - so the drabble was technically inspired by me giggling over that line and wanting to see what exactly had happened._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a mild NSFW warning. This, as well as future NSFW chapters, have been structured so that you can skip over it if you truly wish without missing out on much of the plot.

He was only vaguely conscious of the ache in his neck, his mind slowly lifting into a hazy consciousness as he shifted his head, pressing his face into the soft cushion below. 

Something was different. 

The cushion was slick, silken against his cheek, not the coarse pillow that he balanced on the edge of his bedroll. He could feel soft cloth against his otherwise bare skin, cool to the touch compared to the warm air around him. The curtain of sleep eased ever higher as his senses returned to him. The scent of magic was thick in the air, heavy and tingling in a way he had not experienced since… 

He opened his eyes, blinking as his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness around him. Even in the faint traces of moonlight that trickled into the room, he knew this place. 

He knew every detail of it. 

The rounded walls were shimmering, iridescent. Enchanted to trick the eye so that one may see out but none could peer in. High arching ceilings that were built to mimic the curves of the branches above rather than the angular artificiality of more mundane construction. A wide brazier sputtered with little more than embers yet the fire’s heat still lingered, stretched and stitched into a spell that left it caught in a net of warmth. 

This was his bedroom, tucked within the upper floors of his estate in Arlathan. 

Confusion was the first thing that struck him, his eyes widening as he lifted his head. Thick, tangled shafts of hair shifted against his neck, spilling across his shoulders as he moved. He ran his fingers over the dark mane at his crown, matted strands tied back in a loose cascading pile. He lowered his hand, peering at it. With a subtle twist of his wrist he summoned an orb of light and then dispelled it just as quickly. The magic flowed effortlessly- as simple as breathing. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lip. 

He was as he once was, as he remembered himself to be before the Fall. His mind was clouded though, disoriented from sleep. 

He shifted his shoulders, starting to rise when he felt a hard surface press softly against his bare stomach. He glanced down, his fingers finding his foci cradled next to him. He stared at it, running a reverent hand over its surface, tracing the deep, familiar grooves. He could feel the energy buzzing under his touch. It was fresh. Living. A coursing river rather than the stagnant well it had been when he awoke from uthenera. 

The memory of that moment was hazy, as if that future was all a fading nightmare. Rising from uthenera into a strange and completely foreign world; a world filled with shemlen and the pitiful remnants of the once-proud elvhen. His betrayal of the gods, his creation of the great barrier that separated magic from the world - it seemed ludicrous to him now. Why would he betray his kin? As pigheaded as many of them were, they were still his people. This was the stuff of some fevered vision. It did not feel real to him now, not as this current moment did. 

He suddenly stiffened, startled to feel the warmth of a body shifting in close behind him, an arm draping itself across his side. A smooth hand ran up along his chest, drawing him back against the press of soft flesh. He could feel a pair of lips against his shoulder, a voice murmuring low. “Is my god awake?” 

The sound made his stomach grow tight. 

He twisted his head to face her, his body still held in her embrace. Isii’s green eyes met his in the dim light, barefaced and unbranded, her lips pulled into a lazy smile. He peered at her, confused before the small glimmer of clarity struck him. 

This couldn’t be real. 

This was a dream; a construct in the Fade. His mind had created this from his memory and inserted her into it. It made sense, now that he could see it for what it was. She was the one thing he would miss, the one thing he would mourn if he suddenly awoke to find the Fall had not yet happened. His mind would resist letting go of her so easily. 

Her eyes drifted down slowly, spotting the orb. “Communing with your spirits again, my Lord?” She cooed, trailing her hand over his foci. He gripped it instinctively, pulling it from her. She smiled softly, though there was a subdued flicker of worry in her eyes. “Come now, Fen’Harel. Since when do you not trust one of your Exalted?” 

He stifled a bitter laugh. Of course his mind would place her in the role of an Exalted. It was one of the only kindnesses he would have been able to do for her, had she truly existed in the time of Artlathan. Exalted were bound not by blood but by vow, allowed to live freely, to keep slaves of their own. They were given the so-called privilege to pledge themselves to their gods in exchange for such freedoms. 

Time shifted. His vision changed as the Fade warped around him, twisting to leave him in that room while is mind drifted through a different vision. He could see her then in a memory, a time distinct from this moment. She knelt before him, bare, sweat still dewing on her skin from the ritual to cleanse her. He sat back, disinterested, his leg slung wantonly over the arm of his throne, eyes casually inspecting his newest prize as she recited her vow. 

“ _My body is nothing if not a vessel for your service. I am yours to take, to do with what you will, at the whim of your mercy. Command me. I will follow without hesitation._ ” Her eyes were steady, impassioned as she looked up at him. To her, this subjugation was an honor. It always was, for the faithful. _“For you are my lord, my god. I belong to none but you, both here and in uthenera.”_  

There was a time that he fooled himself into thinking that a pledge of fealty was somehow better than slavery – since the Exalted chose to take the vows themselves rather than having their thralldom forced upon them. He could rationalize it. In the end, the difference mattered little. The Exalted gave themselves, body and mind, to the service of their patron. 

And it was not uncommon for an Exalted to warm a god’s bed. 

He closed his eyes, letting out a tight breath as he pushed the vision aside. _No._  He didn't want to think of her that way. He didn't want to even entertain the notion of her being subservient to him. He did not want her submission. He wanted her as she was - insistent, stubborn, strong-willed and free. None of this was real. It was a falsehood stitched together in the framework of his past. A dream with its own false memories was a dangerous construct to linger within. It blurred the line between reality and the Fade, confused the mind, made temptation harder to resist. 

He needed to wake up. 

He forced himself to think of Isii as she truly was. The Inquisitor. The misguided Dalish. The woman who peppered him with questions about the Fade. He summoned fragmented thoughts, memories, things to draw him out of the dream. The small flickering traces of lightning dancing across her hands moments before she attacked. The way she idly stretched her ankles when she read, lounging on the couch in his study. The small sound of her lips parting when he first kissed her. The feel of her hair pooling between his fingers. He thought of watching over her, of studying the anchor. He thought of the Inquisition and Corypheus and his mission to save the People. 

None of this was real. 

He needed to wake up. 

“Is something troubling you?” She asked softly. 

“Quiet.” He said sharply. 

He tried to block her out as she moved against him, bare as he was and pressed against his back. “Have I angered you?” 

“You cannot anger me when you are not real.” He said flatly, annoyed. _Do not argue with the vision. Focus._  

She let out a soft, confused laugh. Though he tried to block her out, though he tried to focus on the real Isii and not this shade, he could not ignore the feel of her hand as it drifted down his stomach, slipping under the sheet. “Do I not feel real to you?” She purred. 

He caught her hand before it reached its destination, his eyes opening. “Vhenan-” 

“I am your vhenan now?” She asked, pulling away to press down on his shoulder. He protested as she rolled him onto his back, spreading herself over him. Moonlit hair fell about her shoulders, one knee firmly planted between his own. The sheet fell away as she moved, pooling at their calves, exposing them both to the night air. She looked down at him, grinning. “Is my wolf growing fond of me?” 

She looked at him as if this was some sort of bedroom game – it hurt him to think she would not consider that he would call her vhenan in earnest. 

 _No. You need to focus. Take control of your movement within the Fade once more. Do not let yourself believe this, even for a moment. She is a shade, a remnant, an imitation. Do not care for her feelings as she has none._  

And yet… 

He reached up, running his hand along the curve of her cheek, tracing ghostly lines where arcing branches once paled her skin. She looked so different without the vallaslin. Beautiful bare skin, not marked and collared and disgraced. He did not dare let his eyes venture lower, but he could feel the heat of her body as it hovered over him, the swell of her breasts lightly dragging across his chest as she breathed. Her body would only look as he had imagined it. It would not be real. But he knew her form would be constructed with the same level of exquisite detail as the rest of this dream. 

He did not need to drive his temptation further by looking. 

Her gaze was not as shy, slowly drifting down as she dragged teasing fingers against his lower abdomen. “Does my god wish to take me again?” She murmured. 

He frowned. “Don’t call me that.” 

There was a genuine look of confusion on her face, but it quickly faded. She had a role to play for him. It was well understood by those who served. “Then what would you have me call you, my Lord?” When he did not answer, she lowered herself over him, pressing her body to his, bringing her lips to his throat. “Ma fen.” She murmured, selecting a title in his silence. 

He needed to wake up. He knew he needed to wake up. To indulge in this any further would attract Desire and he did not need the added complication when he was already trapped so deeply within this dream. But he could not deny the feel of her lips as she brought them to his own or the hot press of her flesh as her body rocked gently against his. Her touch was intoxicating, as he knew it would be. The Fade made her feel to him as he wanted her to feel. Her hands knew how to touch him in exactly the way his skin craved because this was all inside his mind. Even knowing this, he could not deny that a part of him wanted to give in. It was only a dream, after all. He could take here what he could not in waking. An indulgence. Merely another indulgence. 

 _Wake up. Stop being an ass and focus._  

His own chiding did not stop him from bringing his hands to her, did not stop him from parting her lips with his tongue. He was a fool. An absolute fool. But this was a fantasy. This was the closest he could allow himself to getting what he wanted. She moaned softly, pulling her lips away, hovering by his face. “Take me.” She murmured, her mouth brushing his own as she shifted above him. “Isala ma, Fen’Harel.” 

Solas awoke with a start, breathing in quickly as his eyes flew open. Dim beams of daylight pierced the edges of the tent. He lay on his side, Isii’s sleeping form curled up against his back. Her arm was draped against him, her fingertips resting on his hip. He took in a deep, irritated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. 

It was not unheard of for him to falter in his control of the Fade. His ability to manipulate it was not absolute. He still had dreams and nightmares just like any other living creature, dwarves being the only exception. More often than not, they were a rare occurrence, but his mind was troubled. Conflicted. The Fade was reflecting that, showing him images of his past, forcing him to face what he truly was. 

As if being Solas would somehow let him forget. 

He slid his hand over hers, gently pulling her arm away. She stirred, murmuring sleepily as he quietly shifted his body. He rose, exiting the tent, leaving her alone to sleep.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> ma fen - my wolf
> 
> isala ma - I need you


	4. Chapter 4

Isii stretched, spreading herself out lazily along the joined bedrolls. As much as she enjoyed the extra leg room, she was disappointed to find Solas had already risen for the day. She enjoyed the moments she was able to wake with him beside her, often tangled comfortably with his limbs. Admittedly a few of those intimate mornings were from before they were ever romantically involved. She would wake to find herself pressed against his body, clinging to him, her ears growing hot with embarrassment as she pulled away. He never complained.

They regularly shared a tent while traveling, even in her earliest days with the Inquisition. At first it was merely a convenient pairing. He was a quiet sleeper and kept to his bedroll, even though she couldn't say the same for herself. As they became better friends, she started looking forward to their time together – nights spent lying beside one another, talking quietly about the Fade and the long distant past. He was always patient with her questions, even when they dragged out well into the early hours of the morning.

It had only gotten better after they admitted their feelings for one another. Nights were spent stealing kisses and stifling laughter, hidden away from sight, making her feel like some adolescent trying to hide a love affair from her Keeper. He was usually the one to have to convince her to get some sleep, though she never wanted to. He would lure her with the promise that he would come to her in the Fade, that he would show her what he could of the memories their location offered them. She would close her eyes, drift off to sleep in his arms and rejoin him in a dream. She could never see the trapped memories the way he could – they were always blurred fragments to her. Yet with his guidance, she practiced. She learned how to see, how to commune with spirits safely, how not to corrupt them with her fear or apprehension.

He was a very good teacher when he wasn’t distracting himself, pulling her closer, pressing his lips to her skin. He was always so much easier to tempt in the Fade.

She would wake up from these dream-walks feeling refreshed. Soothed. Some mornings she would wake to the feeling of his fingertips drawing lazy circles on her back, smiling sleepily as she opened her eyes to meet his. Other times he would still be asleep and she would pull him closer, coaxing him from the Fade with her touch. These were precious moments for her – times that she did not get to have with him often enough.

It was one of the many reasons she wished he would share her bed at Skyhold.

It didn’t bother her. Not really. In a way, she found it almost sweet that he wanted to wait – as if he wanted their first time together to be special. This was admittedly an assumption on her part. It was the only reason she could think of for his refusal when she offered herself to him. She did not doubt that he wanted her. While his mind remained a mystery, his body’s desires were blatantly clear on the matter. There was only so much a man could do to hide his arousal. But in those moments, pressed against her, his hands greedy in their need for her, there was always an inevitable end. He would draw himself away, kiss her lightly on the forehead or cheek and turn his attention to something else. She always struggled to understand him then, to try and read his features. It seemed obvious to her that he was reluctant to pull back, yet determined not to take things any further.

She wanted to know his reasons, but she did not push the issue. As with many things, she allowed him his private thoughts. They were his own to carry. She simply hoped he would share them with her in time.

She crawled out of the tent, dressed in little more than her nightclothes, stretching as she rose. Solas sat a few paces ahead of her, perched on the edge of a felled log. He hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling the tankard he normally kept strapped to his pack. He took a sip, sneering as he pulled the vessel away.

“Are you drinking my tea?” She asked, peering at him.

Her voice drew him from his thoughts, his eyes quickly rising to meet hers. His momentary startle settled and he glanced down into the cup. “Yes.” He grumbled simply, taking another swig. She laughed lightly as his face soured, moving over to him.

“Must be quite a foul mood you’re nursing there.” She said, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

“I needed to shake off the remnants of a dream.”

“More nightmares?” She frowned, settling herself beside him, gathering the hem of her shift against her knees. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“No,” he snapped quickly. A little too quickly. He kept his gaze down. “It was nothing of importance.”

She let out a small sigh, her brow creasing. It was another moment where he deflected and dismissed, even though she could see he was bothered. She only wanted to help.

Still, his thoughts were his own.

“You haven’t been sleeping well, vhenan.” She said, running her hand along his cheek. “And you haven’t been visiting me in the Fade as often. Is everything alright?”

He took a breath, rubbing the base of his palm against his brow. “Sometimes the mind merely needs to purge itself of its thoughts.” He explained. “When that need arises, it becomes much more difficult to control and manipulate the Fade. Even for me.”

She hummed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder, slipping the tankard from his hands. “If there is any way I can help-”

“I will let you know.” He finished for her.

She brought the cup to her lips, taking a sip of the lukewarm beverage before grimacing. “You burned it.”

He shrugged. “I cannot tell the difference, in all honesty.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Heathen.” She murmured, pecking him on the cheek before rising. “I should get dressed. I want to cover as much ground as possible today. Be ready soon?”

“Ma nuvenin.” He muttered.

***

She was pleased to find that the nightmares didn’t bother him over the next few days and she got the chance to indulge in their shared dreams once more. He always appeared happier after they’d spent the night together in the Fade. He was quick to smile, more prone to laughter. It was a side of him that she knew was reserved only for her and she cherished it.

The landscape shifted slowly around them. The drier grasses at the base of the mountain turned into lush fields. The forest grew dense, the air buzzing with sounds of life. It brought a smile to her face as she heard the sounds of small creatures moving through the underbrush, of birds singing back and forth to one another high overhead.

“The Dales always remind me of home,” she said, taking a deep breath. The scent was different here. The plants were wrong, yet still familiar enough, more so than the Frostbacks. “I suppose that’s appropriate, considering the history of the place.” She gave his hand a squeeze, flashing a coy smile. “I’d imagine the farther we go, the more interesting our Fade walks will be. All the memories that must be stored here…”

“Assuming you can focus enough to actually see anything.” He said. It was a subtle tease. He was not doing a good job of hiding his grin.

“I don’t remember you having any complaints last night about my focus.” She said, smiling as she brought their clasped hands to her lips, nipping his knuckle lightly with her teeth.

That earned her a laugh. “Not a complaint. Merely an observation.”

She spotted the stone statue on the pathway ahead, a small smile curling on her lips. A figure of Fen’harel, his head held high with pride, gazing out over the horizon. “Now it’s starting to truly look like the Dales.” She said as they neared it, stretching onto her toes as she reached up to run her fingers idly along its snout. “We should probably make camp for the night.”

“You want to make camp here?” He asked, his eyes narrowing curiously.

“It’s as good a place as any.” She said. “Besides, it we set up our tent behind the statue, it'll make me all nostalgic. Almost feel like I’m back in a Dalish camp. It would be like having our own guard dog.”

Solas chuckled – a private laugh that piqued her interest. She arched her eyebrow, giving him a curious look as he shook his head. “As superstitious as you are, I am surprised to hear you make jokes about your gods. The Dread Wolf in particular.”

“Well then, I suppose I should just hope he has a sense of humor.” She said, ducking under a low branch as she picked her way past the statue. “I’d imagine he is not entirely dour.”

Solas suppressed a grin as he followed her. “Perhaps.”


	5. Chapter 5

Solas groaned softly at the press of her lips on his cheek, slowly rousing him from sleep. He frowned, his eyes reluctant to open as her mouth traced the crest of his ear. Kissing was her preferred method for waking him. Normally he rather enjoyed it, yet right in that moment all he wanted was to slip back into the Fade. He blinked, bleary-eyed. The tent was lit by only the slightest hint of dim morning light as she shifted against him, nipping his earlobe. “It’s still early.” He grumbled, the weight of sleep hanging heavy on his brow.

“We’re going hunting.” She whispered. “I want to get a move on before the forest starts to wake up. Scout out a good spot.” She shifted away from him, stretching. “Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve gone on a hunt.”

“So I should sacrifice sleep to feed your nostalgia?”

“You should sacrifice sleep to feed yourself, silly.” She said, giggling. He rolled over onto his side, bringing his arm around her waist, pulling her to him once more.

“Rest a bit longer. The forest will still be there.” He murmured, his lips pressing a drowsy trail along the crook of her neck. He could hear the warm hum grace her throat but even so she writhed, fingers prying at his hold on her.

“Don’t try to butter me up so you can go back to sleep, fade walker.” She said with a smirk. “I’m onto you.”

“Are you now?”

“Do you really think a few kisses are going to sway me when I’ve set my mind to something?”

“An intriguing hypothesis.” He said, unable to refrain from grinning as his lips found the spot behind her ear that always rewarded him with a soft, shuddering sigh. She turned her head to face him and her smile softened.

There was a brief moment, unspoken, that hung between them as he held her loosely, her fingertips tracing slow trails along his sleeve. She was so beautiful. While his attraction to her went far beyond her appearance, he was often overcome by just how deeply he admired the aesthetics of her form. Once, when he was a younger man, he would have wanted her on that basis alone and would have no doubt gotten his way simply due to who he was. Yet this, whatever _this_ was between them – it was more meaningful, more satisfying. As foolish as it had seemed to pursue it, as reluctant as he had been to act on his desires, he could no longer imagine not having these moments to share with her. When she first made her intentions clear that she wanted to be more intimate with him, he had the panicked thought that he should end the relationship before it progressed any further. He thought it would be easier that way. He knew when he told her the truth, when he revealed who he was, her rejection was inevitable. He wanted to spare her any additional pain for when that moment eventually came. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was selfish, he knew that it was, but she made him feel things he could not quite put words to. He was happy, if admittedly a bit deluded. He was no longer alone and he couldn’t bear the thought of giving that up.

She leaned forward, warm, soft lips pressing to his own, gentle and slow, lingering. He pulled her closer as she rolled onto her side, guiding his shoulders down so she could lean against his chest, the press of her kiss more forceful, yet not demanding. He closed his eyes, making a careful study of this moment, trying to preserve the feel of her in his memory, as he often did when indulging in her affection. He wanted to be able to recall this when he no longer had her at his side. One day, they would part. It was an unavoidable truth. He needed to drink her in, to memorize her, in order to prepare for that inevitability.

As if he could ever truly prepare for it.

“I’ve thoroughly reviewed your proposal,” she murmured playfully, her lips lingering against his as she broke the kiss. “But ultimately I am going to have to reject it. You are getting up, whether you like it or not, dreamer.” She added with a small laugh. “I’m getting tired of eating nothing but dried goods. I need fresh meat.” She added, pushing herself away from him.

***

He had never watched her hunt before.

He’d studied her in combat; knew the movements of her body and the strength of her focus more intimately than most. On the surface, the actions were not entirely dissimilar. In battle, she preferred to use stealth, taking the high ground if able, striking from a distance. She liked to leave her enemies blind, not seeing the danger coming until it was too late. If being seen was unavoidable, she normally defaulted to defensive measures. Backed away, baited the trap, so that when the enemy thought she was retreating she could hit them when they were most vulnerable. It was a quick game of observation and deception, of wordlessly creating the narrative her opponent wished to see and then using it to her advantage. Hunting, however, was a very different dance. In this, she was entirely predatory. Focused. Quiet. She moved deftly, having abandoned her boots back at camp so that she could lift and set each step with care, nearly silent save for her steady breaths. She was running, loping, head angled low, keeping her eyes trained on the rabbit. She had been stalking it successfully, drawing closer, but their presence had not gone unnoticed. When the rabbit bolted, she lunged into her stride, lifting her staff, taking aim. Solas followed, far more interested in watching her than in targeting her prey. She had it in a good position – on the ridge of a small hillside, unable to veer to the right without risking a tumble.  A flash of lightning sprang from her staff, shooting with the pin-point accuracy he had come to expect from her. It stuck its mark, a shrill scream ringing forth, silenced with the same speed with which it pierced the air, the rabbit falling limply onto its side. A quick, bloodless kill. She slowed her pace, satisfied as she walked over to collect her catch, stuffing it into her pack.

“A good start,” she mused. She glanced up at him, grinning as she rose to her feet. “Leaving me to do all the work, I see.”

He smiled patiently, shaking his head. “You did not appear to need my assistance.”

She stepped closer, her brow arching mischievously as she closed the distance. “Really now? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were having trouble keeping up with me.”

His eyes narrowed, taking the bait. “Do not doubt my level of experience, vhenan. I promise you, I have hunted far longer than you have.”

She let out a low, purring laugh, her hands on his chest, leaning up towards his lips. “Then you shouldn’t have any trouble finding me.” She said playfully. He did not have time to comprehend her meaning before she gave him a hard shove. He fell backwards, catching himself in a roll as he slid down the small hill. His feet quickly found their purchase, slowing his momentum, catching a handful of earth to stop himself. By the time he glanced back up, she was gone.

He should have been irritated, but a slow smirk spread across his lips despite himself. It had been a very long time since he’d played such a game.

He picked himself up, scrambling back up the hill in a few long strides, stilling as he reached the crest. His eyes scanned the paths she could have taken, quieting his breaths in order to listen. The easiest path would have been heading north where the forest thickened, giving her more cover. That would have been the straightforward answer. Yet if he knew anything about her, she would have assumed he’d see that choice and purposefully made another. She could not have gone far – even at her fastest, she would not have been able to run beyond his line of sight that quickly. So she had to be hiding somewhere nearby.

He found a few small displacements in the dirt – not footprints, but enough to indicate the recent stirring of the soil. He followed them, pleased with himself for his accurate prediction as the markings took him slightly west. It had been a long time since he had properly tracked anyone. There was something slightly nostalgic and thrilling about it. The instinctive stillness of breath, ears attentive, eyes scanning. He heard a small movement nearby and paused, turning to look as he saw the small stone skittering before it sank into a nearby bush. A diversion. Something to draw his attention away. He whipped around but she was already on him, hands planted on his chest, pushing him back against a nearby tree. The impact forced a grunt out of him which she quickly captured with her lips as his staff fell from his grip. It was a hard kiss, teeth pinching his lower lip as she laughed. When she pulled away, her face lingered close, grinning as she caught her breath.

“You’re distressingly easy to catch, Solas.” She teased, self-satisfied, her voice low and heavy with flirtation. “Perhaps I am better at hunting than you previously assumed?”

He brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, her skin warmed from her sprint. “I was not aware I was the one being hunted.” He said, unable to suppress a smirk. “I assure you, if I did not want you to find me, I would have little trouble in achieving it.”

“Humble as always.” She said with a laugh, lifting her head as she brought her lips temptingly close to his own. “Don’t be a sore loser. There are certain benefits to be had by being caught by a beautiful huntress in the woods.” She dragged her fingertips along the edge of his ear as moved in, a breath away from kissing him. “You do know the story of Fen’harel and the Tree, don’t you?”

His expression fell, his jaw tightening. He was familiar with the fiction. The day the huntress Andruil captured the Wolf and tied him to a tree, demanding he serve in her bed as retribution for a slight against her. From the way he’d heard the Dalish tell the tale, it was always within the context of lustful desire, as if the pair were always dancing along the line between adversaries and lovers. He could not help but think, in that moment, of Andruil as she had been: the spiteful viper, once left half-mad by the Void. The goddess who took pleasure in slaughtering the elves selected as quarry for her hunts, toying with them, finding a sick satisfaction in their terror. The one who described to him in graphic detail how she would display his head as a trophy, hung by his hair in her temple so that all would know that she was the one who had slain the Dread Wolf. The woman who trained her arrow on him so eagerly at Elgar’nan’s command, who screamed with such ferocity when her prey escaped her.

Isii moved in for another kiss, startled when he pushed her away firmly. “I’m familiar with it,” he said, his tone icy. He pressed himself past her, stooping down to pick up his staff once more. She watched him, confused. Clearly that was not the reaction she was expecting.

“I was only joking.” She said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to-”

“It is fine.” He said curtly. He began again, consciously trying to soften his tone. “You have done me no offense.” From the look on her face it was clear she didn’t know whether or not to believe him. “I merely find the Dalish understanding of Andruil and her relationship to Fen’harel-” he cut himself off, searching for the right word. _Distasteful? Disgusting?_ “…puzzling.” He concluded.

“How so?”

He hesitated for a moment, realizing that this was territory he did not want to linger within. “In the Fade, I have witnessed many storytellers sharing many tales. Moments around campfires, fables being passed from person to person, to educate, to entertain. I can tell you that many of the stories the Dalish tell now have changed drastically over the course of history.” None of this was untrue, providing a safe enough context for what would follow. “There was a time where the People understood Andruil and Fen’harel to be far more antagonistic than you seem to believe today. At best, they were strained allies, yet were enemies more often than not. Had she any desire to force him to serve in her bed, it would not be out of any lustful urge. It would be in order to humiliate him. To have him treated as one would a slave. It would come from no feeling within her not directly tied to her own sadism.” He tried very consciously to keep his tone level, to avoid letting his true feelings on the matter show.

She approached him, more cautiously this time, smoothing her hands over his shoulders as she looked up apologetically. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She said softly. He nodded as her fingers trailed along the front of his vest. “You know, for someone who doesn’t believe in them, you seem to know an awful lot about my gods.” She added with a small smirk.

He merely responded “I do.” 


	6. Chapter 6

There was a reason he tried to avoid encouraging discussion of the elven pantheon. Once that door had been opened, however, there was little he could do to close it. When she wasn’t focused on scouting out their next target, Isii was peppering him with questions about the beings she called gods. She wanted to know how their stories had changed over time, if there were discrepancies in how each were viewed. Part of him desperately wanted to tell her the truth of it – to explain to her that these beings she held up as divine were little better than warlords or tyrants. There were those among them who demanded the subjugation of the People outright and used a savage brutality to enforce their dominance. And those who did not were still complacent with such abuses, comfortable to reap the benefits purchased with the blood of others they deemed less worthy.

Yet he resisted, answering only in vague terms of things he attributed to stories and myths, legends found in the memories of the Fade. She took to these tales with a level of skepticism, her belief not shaken, yet still interested to know more. It should not have surprised him in the slightest. Her thirst for knowledge applied to all things. She wanted to learn everything she could about virtually all subjects and he had long ago proven to be a willing source of information for her. 

When she pressed, he told her of Falon’din and how the God of Death once was so overcome with his own vanity that his thirst for worship became nearly unquenchable. He told her how he waged war on the elves, cutting down all those who refused to pledge themselves to his service. He did not tell her how he remembered in vivid detail the day that Mythal came to him, asking for his aid. He did not tell her how Falon’din had tried to escape punishment by slipping through the barrier into the land of the dead, nor how it was Fen’harel’s magic that kept him anchored there to face retribution. He left out the part where his own teeth drew blood from the God of Death, neglecting to share how he made two powerful enemies that day.

He told her of Dirthamen, the twin-soul to Falon’din. He explained how he became the Keeper of Secrets by being an underhanded snake, far more dangerous than any of the players of the Game she encountered in Orlais. He told her how he had eyes everywhere, using methods known to none but himself to gather information that he could use to shift the power balance in his favor. He didn’t tell her how Dirthamen spoke to him as if they were cut from the same cloth, dual minds that thrive in deceit and trickery. He didn’t say how the god showed him the false face of a friend while plotting the downfall of all those who had brought his brother to heel. 

He told her of Elgar’nan, the All-Father, their leader and ruler and self-appointed king. The Dalish took the title of All-Father literally, while in truth it was an assumed title. He told her of his outbursts and how Mythal stood at his side to soothe his savagery. But he didn’t tell her that he was a mad tyrant. He didn’t describe the way the hairs would stand up on the back of Fen’harel’s neck as he stared down one of Elgar’nan’s rages or how he could still recall the acrid scent of his magic all these years later. He didn’t tell her about the mass executions, the desecration of the Temple, or the day he watched the God of Vengeance truly live up to his title.

It was only a matter of time before she asked about the Dread Wolf.

“I suspect that anything I tell you of Fen’harel, you would simply dismiss.” He said as her eyes narrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“He is the embodiment of what the Dalish fear and despise, is he not?” He said, trying not to sound bitter. “The reason the Keepers need be wary. The convenient antagonist to every tale. Such narratives are not easily discarded. If I told you anything that contradicted that notion, would you even give it a second thought?”

She peered at him, frowning. “It’s been a long time since you’ve discredited my reasoning on account of me being Dalish,  _hahren_.” She said, a note of heavy sarcasm on the title as she lifted her eyebrow. “I thought we were past that point.” He said nothing, hiding the scowl that wanted to creep over his features. “You assume too much about what I do and do not believe.”

“Meaning?”

“You think my faith in the gods is limited to absolutes and literal interpretations of fables. Do you think I cannot recognize a morality tale when I see one?” She shifted her pack onto her back, adjusting her staff as it slipped from its strapping. “The Dread Wolf, for example. True, he is a convenient villain for such stories. I remember my Keeper regularly telling me that Fen’harel would snatch me up in the night for being too stubborn and hot-headed to do as I was told. But it’s more complicated than him simply being some bogeyman to frighten people into obedience. That’s not what I believe him to be.”

“What then?” He asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t  _hate_  him, for one thing. Not as one should hate a proper villain. Hatred and being wary are two very different things.” She glanced out over the riverside as they followed the water’s trail back to their camp. “He is a god to be feared, yes. But he has his virtues.”

“What virtues could you possibly attribute to someone whose name you use as a curse?”

“He doesn’t lie, for one.” She said. “He speaks in half-truths, to be certain. He weaves his words to avoid outright falsehoods. He is a trickster after all. It’s in his nature to deceive. But he does not lie outright. If you’re smart enough, if you’re quick enough on your feet, you don’t have to. Admittedly that’s a skill to aspire to. Creators know half of Orlais already does.”

He scoffed. “True.”

“He still offers aid to those who ask it of him, though the cost may be very high. But is that not just a reflection of how the world works? There is  _always_  a cost. There is no joy without eventual pain. No thing to be held as precious that won’t one day be taken from you. If it makes him somehow evil to simply reflect this basic fact of life, then the shifting sways of fortune themselves are inherently tainted. The world itself would be the villain, not the Wolf that roams within it.”

He frowned. “That is far more fatalistic than I would have expected from you.”

Her face hardened slightly in a manner he found curious, but the moment passed. “Lessons learned.” She said cryptically before continuing. “Fen’harel also keeps his word when promises are made. The key lies in being very  _specific_  when arranging the terms of the agreement. He’s not evil. Not a villain, but a challenge. He reminds the People of the importance of a skilled tongue and a sharp mind, of the danger in misplaced trust. He doesn’t bring people to their downfall. Their hubris does that for them. He is merely the teacher of a harsh lesson. Only the very cunning or the very foolish would dare challenge the Dread Wolf.”

He studied her a moment, careful not to smirk. “And would you seek out such a challenge yourself?”

She laughed softly, humming a moment in thought as their campsite came into view up ahead. “I think I’m bit too superstitious to answer that question, vhenan.”

“Afraid Fen’harel will hear you and swoop down to prove you wrong?” He couldn’t hold back his grin now and she glanced at him, shaking her head.

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said innocently, grunting slightly as she elbowed him in the ribs. His lips parted, ready to speak again when he suddenly stilled, feeling an unsettling tremor in the Veil. “Vhenan-”

“Shit.” She slipped her staff from her back, her eyes scanning their surroundings quickly as the air was filled with the familiar crackling sensation. A rough vibration against his skin. A sharp metallic scent.  Then a booming roar and tear as a rift burst open in the middle of their campsite, demons rushing forth to seek freedom beyond the Fade.

Three demons. Two Terrors. One Pride. They were a few paces off still, but combat was inevitable. Their eyes met for a moment and he could see her apprehension. She knew just as he did that, as two mages trying to close a rift alone, the odds were not in their favor. The moment of hesitation faded in an instant, fear receding as her features hardened. “Barriers up. You take left.”   
That was all she had to say as she twisted her staff in her hand, dashing to the right as lightning began to crackle along her skin, sharp and stinging. They had been fighting together long enough, he knew the tactic she would want to take.  _Circle them. Aim to stun, go for more damage only when you can. Keep moving._  He threw the first barrier over her skin, the iridescent green sheen falling over her as she ran, lips curling back, the first bolt of lightning shooting from her staff as she roared. 

He took off in a sprint, trying to stretch a sheet of paralyzing frost along the ground wide enough to ensnare the three demons, but one of the Terrors dove down into the dirt. Solas felt the slight tremor in the earth beneath him, throwing himself to the side as the demon emerged under him. He skittered onto his back, aiming his staff in one fluid motion and propelling a blast of cold at the Terror bearing over him. His mind worked quickly, trying to take in everything at once. The other two were still paralyzed, but wouldn’t be for long. Isii was chipping away at them, chaining lightning between their frozen forms, but the icy hold was starting to lessen. He shot a second blast in their direction, trying to harden the ice as the Terror above him moved into a lunge. 

Solas ducked down, rolling past the Terror, pushing himself to his feet in one smooth transition as a sudden ring of fire sprang up beneath the demon, scorching its long limbs as the Terror screamed, crumbling in on itself.

One down, but more were coming. He could feel them pressing against the Veil before they came into sight. Two Rage demons entered the fray.

This fight would not be quick. He kept moving, casting, running, eyeing his next target, looking for opportunities to strike. The barriers on Isii were fading faster than usual. She was taking more damage. Each time she tried to withdraw, the demons followed. Unavoidable. She could not hide behind Cassandra’s shield or duck back as Bull came up swinging. Solas was her only means of deflection and he was struggling not to be overrun himself.

Pride went down. Then one of the Rage demons. Isii was tiring. He could hear it in her voice as her shouts became more strained, practically screaming as she lashed out at her attackers. More demons were gathering on the other side of the Veil. He could feel them, feel the trembling, the pressure. They were going to pass through.

They were running out of time.

Solas tried to draw the last two demons off of her, pelting them with a hailstorm of blasts, chunks of ice solidifying in midair seconds before making contact. The tactic worked and she took her opportunity, moving forward, lifting her hand and the anchor snapped, crackling to life. Her body went rigid as the magic trapped within her reached out for the rift, meeting its mark. He could see she was straining but he could not take the time to watch her. The demons closed in on him now and he backed away, baiting them forward before fade stepping aside. With enough distance, he could trap them. Paralyze them and finish the job. He twirled his staff over his head, summoning the ring of frost and casting it as he slammed the butt of his weapon into the ground. Within seconds, he saw the mistake.

He hadn’t been fast enough.

The Terror slipped down into the ground, leaving only the Rage demon to be caught in his trap. Isii was pinned in position, tied by the anchor and he could see the inevitable before it came to pass. 

_No!_

He cast a barrier, but he was too late. Isii was slammed down into the dirt by the force of the demon springing up beneath her. The sound that came from him then was feral, snarling, shouting to match her screams and he could do little more than watch as the clawed hands sank into her flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves a cliffhanger, right? >_>
> 
> Thank you for your patience. I had an absolutely wild couple of days leading up to Valentines Day writing some incredible Romance Meme prompts that got sent to me on [my tumblr page.](geeky-jez.tumblr.com) If you aren't following me there already, I highly recommend it, as you will see tons of drabbles, headcanons and ask responses that don't make it to my archive.
> 
> As always, thank you all for your comments and kind words. I am so excited to keep writing for you.


	7. Chapter 7

The pain was overwhelming.

It gripped her throat, compressed her chest, made it nearly impossible to regain the breath that had been knocked clear from her lungs the moment her back struck the ground. She was disarmed, her staff clattering away in the fall. She could hear Solas shouting, but his voice sounded distant, disconnected from the immediacy of her panic. Even stunned and gasping, she did not lay there passively. She kicked, flailing, instinctively trying to slide out from under the demon who crouched over her, bearing down to attack. Its first swing missed its intended mark, striking her across the stomach as a guttural scream rang from her unwilling throat. She could smell the blood before she saw it, feel it pooling underneath her armor as the claws tore into her. A gaping tear across her gut, a deep gouge down her thigh, the next strike ripping open flesh along her hip. Her eyes widened, anticipating the path of its next swing, knowing it would hit her square in the chest. Lightning rippled across her skin - not cast from her hands but bursting in an uncontrolled storm from her as she roared, striking the Terror with every ounce of willpower she had. It shrieked, staggering back. The hit was enough to stun, but not kill. She tried to drag her body away, but the pain that coursed through her was indescribable. Her heart was racing. She only had a few seconds to prepare before the creature would be on her again. She readied herself, bolts flickering at her fingertips as she heard Solas snarl something in Elvish, a wave of energy blasting past her and crashing into the Terror. The demon fell into a heap, unmoving and bloodied. Isii rolled her head to the side, watching as her lover rushed over to her before her eyes fell on the Rage demon that was slowly emerging from its paralysis.

"Behind you!" She snapped. He turned and had no choice but to engage. She could feel the rift coursing, twitching, the heated tension in the air telling her that the next wave of demons was about to pass through. She flexed her hand, summoning the anchor back to life. If more demons emerged, it was a death sentence. She would not make it out of there alive and worse yet, Solas would be overrun. He would have no way of closing the rift and if he couldn’t retreat fast enough…

She would die before she’d let that happen.

She lifted her hand, aiming it at the rift, reaching out with her will until the coursing flow of power snapped forward, making contact. The anchor was never a simple thing to control. It was not an easy matter of pointing her palm and letting the mark do the work. It was like trying to redirect a coursing river as it hurtled over a waterfall. She clenched her teeth, straining as her breaths grew tight, trembling with effort. She could feel the ground beneath her growing damp, muddied with blood, but she refused to hesitate. She had to close the rift, even if it was the last thing she ever did. 

The Veil finally gave way, sealing with a sudden burst as the Rage demon fell. She let her hand fall back to her side, her eyes closing as she panted, every breath aching as her diaphragm shifted her torn flesh. Solas ran over to her, dropping to his knees. He worked quickly, roughly peeling back her armor so he could press his hands to her skin. Jacket opened, tunic pushed up, breeches half-pulled to her knees.  _Not the way I’d pictured him undressing me, exactly_ , she thought, a cynical laugh shuddering under her breath as she bit down on her lip, trying to stifle a strangled, pained snarl. 

The weight of his touch felt like being stabbed, the sensation shooting through her, stinging and coursing as it snaked across her body. The feel of his magic soon followed. What was normally a gentle caress, an easing of discomfort as minor cuts melted away from the brush of his fingers, now felt like a heavy pressure pressing into her, sinking into every pore. The sensation was bright, sharp, and insistent. Cells coming to life, burning, shifting, bending, reaching to reconnect, to seal the broken tissue. Her head began to swim as Solas reached a hand down to her belt, fishing out a healing potion, his fingers slick with her blood. Keeping his other hand steady against her stomach, he ripped the cork away with his teeth, angling the glass to her lips and she tried not to gag as the bitter taste of elfroot hit the back of her throat. 

He dropped the vial, his hand slipping to her cheek as he tucked his face beside hers, his lips near her ear as she felt the press of his magic sink deeper, strained and trembling. When he spoke, the words were ancient and beyond her comprehension, though she didn’t need to understand to tell that his tone was desperate. There were small phrases she knew, tiny fragments intercut with the foreign sound.  _Vhenan. Please. Not yet._

She’d never seen Solas frightened. Not truly. Not like this.

Slowly the potion began to take effect and she could feel its warmth filtering through her body. In combination with his touch, it was like being wrapped in a bandage, feeling her skin gradually tighten as the wounds sealed. Her breaths came easier then, the pain subsiding as she let out a steady sigh. It was only when she gently curled her fingers around his wrist that the flow of healing magic ceased. He pulled back from her as she slowly sat up, inspecting the damage with her fingertips. The newly formed skin was gnarled, thick and knotted tendrils of flesh trailing along each scar where the tissue regrew and reached out to connect. It reminded her of tree bark in many ways, though it was remarkably soft to the touch, fresh skin that hadn’t been toughened from regular living. The jagged lines now cut through the curving boughs of her vallaslin where it marked her hip and lower abdomen, marring the design. She ran her hand over them before looking up at him, still catching her breath as she gave him a wry smile. 

"Well at least I’ve got a souvenir to remember this trip by."

He crushed his mouth against hers in a single swift motion, his hand to the back of her neck, drawing her forward. She stiffened, letting out a shocked whimper before returning the kiss. It was rough and needy and she tried to soften it with her touch, to slow him down, to soothe him. She put her hand to his cheek and drew away, her forehead pressed to his. “Vhenan, it’s alright.” He closed his eyes, letting out a shaking sigh as she guided his hand over the new skin. “It doesn’t even hurt now. I’m fine.”

"That was -"

"I know," she whispered, running her thumb along his cheekbone. "It was close. But we’re okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to break this chapter up into two parts because of how long it was getting (and how the latter half was becoming more and more NSFW the longer I worked on it). So expect Chapter 8 to be posted a little later tonight. I'm also going to go ahead and change the rating on this fic to "explicit" in anticipation of what's to come.
> 
> I went back and forth on whether or not I wanted Isii’s vallaslin to be just on her face. And even though I am usually a stickler for staying as close to canon as possible, I was inspired/gently nudged into giving her a full-body design. I’ll post a picture of what it looks like eventually - once I get over feeling weird posting a nude of my OC. >_>


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of what was originally a single chapter, broken in two due to length as well as content. For those of my readers who have been anxiously awaiting some in-canon smut for Solas and Isii: congratulations. You have arrived. This chapter (and the next) are both **NSFW.**
> 
> If you’re enjoying Isala Arla and would prefer to skip the smut, feel free. I’ve structured it in a way where you will be able to easily pass over the next two chapters without missing anything major plot-wise.

They stayed there a moment, embraced in a comforting silence broken by little more than their breathing and the quiet rippling of water from the nearby river. His eyes were still closed as she nuzzled against his cheek, pressing soft kisses to his skin until she felt his grip on the back of her neck start to relax. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

She pulled away as she reached for her belt, retrieving another vial. “A bit light-headed, but this should fix it.” She tilted the amber-colored liquid, giving it a small shake before releasing the seal and upending it into her mouth. The taste of deep mushroom was heavy on her tongue, little better than the flavor of salted dirt, but she swallowed it quickly, her face only souring for a moment. Almost instantly she could feel the sudden cold rush of energy and she took a slow breath. “I’ll warn you now, stamina potions tend to make me a bit peppy. Then again, I could probably use that right about now.”

"The fact that you have no aptitude for healing yourself is disconcerting, emm’asha."

"I guess I will just have to keep you around then, won’t I?" She murmured, her voice warming as she smiled. She leaned forward again. "Such a burden, I know, but I’m willing to bear it." She added with a small laugh, her lips brushing lightly against his ear. He didn’t seem warmed or comforted by the joke, looking at her with the same level of shaken concern. "Come on," she said, coaxing him as she shifted to lift herself to her feet, "let’s get ourselves cleaned up." Not only was much of her body covered in blood, but her face and neck were stained from where he’d touched her. He was only a little better off, his hands coated, a smudge on his cheek, blood splattered along his tunic and breeches. 

She stood, bending forward to slip off her boots. She pushed her leggings the rest of the way off, inspecting the torn leather. She let out a frustrated sigh as she tossed them aside. “I’m glad this isn’t the only clothing I brought with me,” she muttered with a laugh as she slipped her jacket off. “Can’t say it would give the right impression if I were to try and run a formal negotiation in little more than my smalls.” She glanced over to him as he stood, silently watching her. “You don’t intend to bathe in your clothes, do you?”

"I should give you some privacy." He said, shaking his head.

She laughed brightly. “Really, now? And you’ll what - sit around bloody and wait your turn?” She walked over to him, her lips curled in a warm smile. “You grew up in a village, yes? With walls and doors and the expectation of privacy? I did not. It’s not like I was streaking naked through the middle of camp, mind you, but I always knew that someone could potentially come upon me when I was in a less-than-modest state. You learn not to be prudish about certain things.” 

She lifted her hands to his shoulders, easing his vest off. “Come on, then,” she said. “We’ll give our clothes a good soak in the river and get ourselves rinsed off. Simple as that.” He studied her for a moment and then nodded, lowering his gaze to slip off his belt. She backed away, carrying his vest over to the pile of her bloodied clothing before stripping away her tunic. She let her eyes drift over to him, watching as he did the same, the wolf’s jawbone hanging against his bare chest. She was not surprised by his musculature. She knew he was strong and had certainly felt his body through his clothing on a number of occasions. But seeing him bared was undeniably pleasing. His form was wrapped in lean muscle, not chiseled but gracefully defined. Though he was still very slight by human standards, he was quite large for an elf and she found he did not much resemble the men from her clan that she had seen in various states of undress. 

She decided to leave her smalls and breastband on, suspecting that he might be uncomfortable with the prospect of complete nudity. She felt that belief was confirmed when he finished dressing down, his smallclothes remaining. They ended above the knee, cut in a fashion similar to his breeches, albeit tighter. She made a point not to let her eyes linger too long, resisting the urge to grin as she collected the soiled clothing. 

She was a bit shameless, but at least she recognized it.

The nearest portion of the river was shallow, only reaching above her knee at the deepest part, but it would suffice. A part of her almost felt nostalgic as she stepped lightly over the flattened river rocks - so used to wearing shemlen shoes that feeling the riverbed against her bare feet was strangely soothing. There was a small naturally-formed alcove surrounded by tall boulders, smoothed from years of flooding. The current was milder there, so Isii stepped gingerly over to it, shuddering slightly as the cool water lapped against her skin. She submerged their clothes, pinning them down with stones to keep them in place. Solas entered the water behind her silently, crouching down to rinse the blood from his hands. His face was still drawn, weighted by his thoughts. She moved closer, bending down to take his hands between her own, running her fingers gently along his skin, washing away the offending stain. He watched her as she did. She couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, but it was clear he was still shaken. She gave him a warm smile as she brushed her fingers along his cheek, wiping away the smudge that marked him. 

"You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," she whispered, leaning forward to nuzzle his jaw. "You didn’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere." He kissed her then, a soft brush of his lips before pulling away to look at her. 

Slowly he began to wash away the blood from her neck where he’d gripped her, from her cheek where he’d cupped her face. She watched him as he did, as his fingers moved slowly across her skin, as he studied the way the water trailed down her body. When he stood, he pulled her with him, staying close as he rinsed the blood from her stomach, from her side, from her hip, hands trailing softly down her thigh, tracing the newly-made pathways of scar tissue. His touch was caring and tender, yet even so it made her shudder, her heart beginning to race. 

She pressed her fingertips along his jaw, guiding him as she leaned up for a kiss. It was soft at first. Slow. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body to his. The feel of his skin against hers was electric, the press of his lips warm and captivating. A soft moan caught in his throat as his hands slid down her sides, making her shiver. She pushed him back a few steps, guiding him until she had him pressed against one of the tall boulders, looping her arms up around his neck. 

He broke the kiss, shaking his head. “Isii-“

"If you’re about to say this is a bad idea, I swear I will leave you here," she murmured, her lips brushing against his with each word. "The bears and the wolves can have you."

"You’re injured-"

"I’m fine, Solas." She looked up at him, running her nails lightly against the back of his scalp. "You aren’t going to hurt me." She leaned forward, whispering as her lips met his. "You would never hurt me." 

She kissed him again. This time it was more insistent. A harder press, needier, hungrier, her tongue sinking past his lips. Her hands trailed down his sides, gripping his hips as she shifted her body against him. He groaned, returning the kiss in kind, heated and longing. His breaths grew heavier in time with her own as she writhed, wantonly rubbing herself against him with each press. She lowered her mouth to his throat, nipping and sucking as he let out a low moan, whispering her name. “Isala ma.” She murmured before pinching his ear between her teeth, grinning as she heard a small growl escape him. “I want you. And I know you want me too,” she added, slipping her hand between their bodies, tracing his length through his smallclothes. He took in a sharp, hissing breath, his eyes closing as she ground her hand against him. He was hard for her, his arousal undeniable and steadily growing under her touch. “It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.” When she kissed him again, she could feel his hesitation melting away. He cupped the nape of her neck, trapping her against his mouth as his hips rose to meet the press of her hand. She couldn’t help but smile against his lips, thrilled to finally see this change in him. After all this time, after all this waiting…

When her fingers started to worry his lacings loose, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away. She began to object but the small whine caught in her throat, quickly silenced as he turned her, pressing her back against the stone. His mouth was on hers again, swallowing the sound, his fingers dragging against her skin as she felt him imbuing his touch with energy. The sudden sensation took her by surprise, gasping against his kiss as his magic sank into her. This wasn’t the delicate tingling she was used to when he healed her, but a bright and all-encompassing rush, her back arching as she felt every inch of her come alive, as if his fingertips were stirring each nerve-ending to their highest point of sensitivity. 

She whimpered as he pulled back, nudging her jaw to the side to give him access to her throat. “Is this what you want, vhenan?” He murmured, his fingers toying with the fastening to her breastband.

"Gods, yes," she answered, shuddering as his teeth scraped her neck. He pulled away the cloth, his eyes drifting down as he brushed his fingers lightly over her breasts. 

"Beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling her throat once more. "Emm’asha vhena’sulahn." She quivered as his hands began to explore the newly exposed flesh. His touch was teasing and delicate. Fingers grasping, squeezing, kneading before his thumbs would slowly flick and circle her nipples, lips and teeth on her throat as she writhed. The feeling of his magic changed everything, made the sensation different than anything she’d ever felt before. Tendrils of energy burrowed into her, slipping down her spine, sinking and blossoming into a bright heat in her core. Her skin was achingly sensitive under the brush of his fingers, to the point where even the lightest touch had her keening. He lowered his mouth, dragging his tongue in a long slow lick across one of her nipples, the sensation shooting a sudden pulse deep between her legs. 

 _Creators_ , she felt like she was getting close and he’d barely even touched her.

She reached down to free him from his smallclothes but once again he pulled her hand away. “Not yet,” he whispered.

She clenched her teeth, wrapping the leather cording of his necklace around her fist, giving it a sharp tug. “Solas if you don’t take me soon, I’m going to scream.”

He pulled back just far enough to look into her face, his lips slowly spreading into a smirk. “Is that a promise?”

She could do little more than let out a frustrated snarl as he captured her mouth once more in a searing kiss, laughing as she bit hard into his lower lip. She was done with waiting. She didn’t want to be teased. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, to sink him into her, to have him take her right there in the river. She fought him with her kiss, roughly pulling on his tongue, raking her nails against the nape of his neck. She hitched one of her legs up along his side, drawing him against her, grinding in a desperate need for some sort of friction. She heard a low pleasured growl rumble from his chest as he gripped her thigh, holding her leg in place, moving his hips to meet each bucking thrust and  _Gods,_  she needed him to stop toying with her. She could feel the hard ridge of his shaft pressing against her through their clothing and she felt hollow, empty, desperate to feel him inside her.

She broke away from his lips, biting back a moan. “Solas, please.”

He angled his hips back, still holding her leg up as he slipped his other hand into her smalls. He took his time, watching her as his fingers traced long, slow, teasing strokes against her slit. Her breathing quickened, letting out small whimpers and sighs with each exhalation. He nipped her ear with his teeth, moaning  _vhenan_  as his fingers curled, slowly pushing inside of her. Her mind went blank, unable to focus on anything but the feel of his hand as he began to speak, his voice low and honeyed, heavy with lust as he said things she could not comprehend. Ancient words that had no meaning for her and yet the sound of his voice was enough to make her quiver, her eyes closing. She could feel the press of his magic swelling inside her, spreading, filling, tingling in her throat, a bright heat buzzing on her lips and tongue, surging down to the tips of her toes as they curled. She had no idea what kind of spell this was or how he was achieving it, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She was drunk on sensation and could feel herself growing closer with each pulse. She let her head fall forward, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, eyes closed, gasping, thrusting hard against his hand. She was cresting, inching closer, tension building as his power thrummed through her veins, his fingers quickening their pace. She cried out as she came, lightning sparking and dancing across her skin - her lightning, not his, her power called up by his will and it made no sense but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Every part of her was alive with a bright burst of pleasure and she could do little more than submit to it.

His fingers slowed, his power receding as he drew out the last few moments of her orgasm. She panted, gripping his shoulders as he held her up, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at him, shivering as his fingers slowly withdrew. “That was…” She stopped short, incapable of finding the words. “The lightning… that’s… that’s never happened to me before.”

He smiled softly, leaning forward to meet her lips and she melted against his kiss. He let her leg slip down from his side, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. She inched her fingers along the top of his smallclothes, but he stopped her. She pulled away, confused.

"Get inside the tent," he whispered, loosening his hold on her.

"I would have you right here-"

"The tent," he repeated firmly. Her eyes narrowed but she could not help but grin as he pulled away from her just enough for her to slip past him, her feet finding their balance as she hurried toward the shore and back to their camp. He followed close behind as she ducked down past the tent flap, his hands on her hips as she crawled forward. He tugged at her eagerly, flipping her over onto her back. She laughed as he fell upon her, her legs instinctively wrapping around him as he leaned down to kiss her. Wordlessly she reached down to tug at his lacings, baffled when he grabbed her wrists, pinning her hands above her head. "There will be plenty of time for that, vhenan."

"Why do you keep stopping me?" She purred, arching her back, pressing herself up against him. "I want to pleasure you."

"And I want to kiss you," he murmured, lowering his lips to her throat.

"You’ve kissed me hundreds if not thousands of times by now," she said. "Don’t you want something more?"

She could feel his breath against her ear as he spoke. “I didn’t say  _where_  I wanted to kiss you.” He pulled back, smirking as her eyes widened, releasing her wrists as he shifted himself lower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> emm’asha - my woman
> 
> Isala ma - I need you.
> 
> vhena’sulahn - beautiful. (A word of my own construction. Roughly translates into ‘something that makes the heart sing’)
> 
> In case anyone is going to get nit-picky with me - yes, I know that technically mages are said to get no benefit from consuming stamina potions. But I see that as more of a game mechanic than a lore issue. My thought is that anyone who would be injured and fatigued could get a pick-me-up from chewing on some Deep Mushrooms or some derivative thereof. Besides, they took out stamina potions and changed the uses for deep mushrooms in DAI, so… I’m ok fudging the canon.
> 
> And while it may seem like this scene just did a fade-to-black, rest assured - it will pick up where it left off in the next chapter. It’s time for a POV switch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're okay with just under 3,000 words of almost nothing but pure smut...
> 
> Again, if you are enjoying Isala Arla but are not interested in smut, feel free to move along. The next chapter will bring us back to the main storyline.

This had probably been a mistake. He'd known that when he pressed his magic to her skin. Even before, when he agreed to join her in the river. It was a series of steps he had taken toward something he knew he should not have.

But he could no longer bring himself to care.

He took his time, caressing her thighs with the drag of his fingertips as he slipped her smalls down. She watched him, grinning as she bit her lip, her face bright with eager anticipation. He studied her a moment, lying bare before him atop the pile of blankets and furs. _Beautiful. Perfect._ He leaned down, shifting to lie between her legs, trailing up her thighs with his lips, remembering what it was like to elicit passion in flesh. It had been such a long time since he'd allowed himself to indulge in carnality. He wanted to savor it. He'd spent many nights wondering what she tasted like, his mind producing visions of parting her folds with his tongue as she cried out for him, but he'd quickly push them aside, trying to dismiss the idea. Now, though, he had her there, in the flesh, her breaths shallow as she watched him, her hips squirming, silently urging him closer as he nipped her skin. He relished the sound that escaped her when he finally brought his tongue to her slit, halfway between shock and relief.

In the river, he'd wanted to flood her senses. He wanted to sate his curiosity, to see and hear and feel her come, to know if it matched the way he'd imagined it. But now, he wanted to take his time. He didn't sink his magic into her flesh, yet the sensitivity from before still lingered. Pleasure came easily to her under his touch and she was not shy in telling him so. Her breathless laughter rang out even now in her delight, gasping and panting as he tasted her, slowly dragging his fingertips between her folds. He could feel the tender swell of her flesh give beneath his touch as he slipped his fingers into her again, teasing a cry with each stroke. Her climax came quickly, effortlessly, but he did not stop. She writhed, trying to pull away from the heightened sensation as he pinned her hips down with his arm, flicking her clit mercilessly with his tongue. Her voice lifted, shouts where there were once soft whimpers, her heels driving down against his back. He wanted to overwhelm her, to push her past her limits, to bring her to her peak tonight as many times as her body would allow. He kissed, licked, stroked, even as she plead _I can't, I can't,_ but then did, shuddering as her words were swallowed by gasps.

It was only then that he lightened his touch, only then that he allowed her body to settle. He looked up, planting a soft kiss to her thigh. "Good?"

She grinned, panting. "More," she plead.

He would not deny her that.

He rose, stripping off his smallclothes. Her eyes were not shy in their downward path, her lip pinched between her teeth as he knelt down again, drawing her up into his lap. He pressed her to him, not entering, simply enjoying the soft heat of her skin against his own as he kissed her. He was in no rush. He held her, his hands wandering the curve of her back as she draped her arms around him, their lips joined, the rhythm of their kisses like a slow tide, rising and falling, inching deeper with each press. She rocked her hips against him, trying to shift him into position. He moaned, tucking his face against the crook of her neck as he felt the slick heat of her against his shaft. Her breaths were shallow and heavy, soft sounds in her throat as she brushed herself against him. "Please, vhenan," she whispered, "I need to feel you."

He leaned forward, lowering her to the ground. Her body welcomed him as he settled over her - arms drawing him down, thighs cushioning his sides as she pulled him into another kiss. He slipped his hand between them, his thumb circling her clit in much the way his tongue had moments before. She pulled her lips from his, shaking her head. "No more teasing," she said firmly, gripping the nape of his neck, staring up at him. "Take me."

He grinned, his eyes narrowing. "Is that an order, Inquisitor?"

She pursed her lips, barely stifling a smirk. "If I thought that was all it took, I would have commanded you into my bed a year ago."

He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face. "Then I suppose I have a lot of time to make up for." He slated his mouth over hers, angling himself until he pressed against her entrance. He could feel the vibration of her keening on his tongue as her legs wrapped fully around him, opening herself to him, trying to draw him down with her heels. He slipped in effortlessly, her flesh well-warmed and slick from pleasure, a small groan caught in his throat as she threw her head back against the furs, eyes shut, wincing and smiling in a single cry.

Even with his earlier attentions, it took a few moments for her body to relax around him and he stilled, watching her face as her eyes opened again, her brow lifting as she grinned. "Finally," she whispered, laughing and gasping as he gave a sudden, chastising thrust. She pulled him down to her lips, rocking against him and he began to move, sinking into her fully with each press. The sounds she made were intoxicating, more vocal than he had imagined, illustrating her pleasure, urging him on. He set a steady pace, lips parting, forehead pressed to hers as the rest of the world fell away. There was nothing else but this - nothing else but the feel of her body beneath him, the whispered curses on her lips as she tightened around him, the wet heat of her that he had so longed for but never thought he would have.

Her eyes closed again, turning to hide her face against the arm he was using to prop himself up, nipping her teeth against it as she moaned. He reached down, gently grasping her chin, guiding her head. “Eyes open, vhenan.” She obeyed, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, darkened with lust and drunk with pleasure. He wanted to see her, wanted her to see him. Her breaths quickened along with the rocking of her hips and he matched her tempo. When she whispered _harder_ he did not hesitate to obey, driving himself into her. Her hands clawed at the makeshift bedding around them, fistfuls of fur and blankets as her hushed words matched his rhythm; _more, there, vhenan, please._ And when he pressed her past another climax, when his thrusts did not cease and her words melted into keening, he knew the word _stop_ lingered on her tongue but was never said.

Perhaps there was a time, when his interests had first peaked, that he could have taken her merely as a conquest - a woman for him to do with as he pleased until she was no longer convenient. It would not be the first time for him to have such a dalliance. But there was no denying that this was more than that. He could not use her and walk away so easily. Not anymore. He had strayed from his course when their paths met and he was now completely incapable of freeing himself.

She was close again, half-remembered Elvish on her lips as she begged for his release. He could feel himself nearing, his thrusts growing more frantic, desperate, his lips lowering to her throat, sucking hard before biting harder. She cried out, clenching around him, clawing at his back. When she came she dragged him down with her, his body flooding with a hot rush of intensity. Groaning, growling, teeth clenched, lips curled back, a sudden bright burst and he felt, for an instant, like he had once been: _boundless_.

Slowly, his senses returned to the confines of his living flesh, both of them stilling, panting, a soft relieved laugh fluttering past her lips. He looked down at her, his fingertips lightly brushing over the side of her throat. Even through her dark skin, he could see where the rough press of his teeth had been. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She giggled, running her hand along his cheek. "That was perfect," she said, grinning. "You are perfect."

He kissed her lightly before stretching himself out beside her, letting his eyes close as he caught his breath. She curled up along his side, her chest against his own as a heavy sense of calm washed over him, soothing him. He could not remember a time when he felt a truer sense of contentment. They did not speak, made no sounds save for her occasional cooing and the soft press of her lips to his shoulder.

This was everything he had ever wanted.

She slowly stirred, nuzzling her face to his chest. “So apparently the key to seducing you is nearly dying and then immediately getting naked afterwards.”

He frowned, his eyes opening as he looked down at her. “I don’t think I like you putting it that way,” he said. “This wasn’t about-”

“Hush,” she said, dragging her fingers lazily against his chest. “It was a joke. You don’t have to explain yourself.” She pressed a kiss to his chest, humming out a slow purr. “It’s been far too long since I’ve done that,” she murmured.

He ran his fingers through her hair, messy and loosened, hardly resembling the braid it had once been bound into. “I am certain that for me it has been longer.”

“How many were there, before me?” She asked, resting her chin against his chest. “The question is not a trap, I assure you. Merely curious.”

“Enough,” he answered simply.

“Which means the number is either far too high or far too low,” she laughed.

“And you?”

“Six,” she answered. “Though none of them were quite as explosive as that. A few of them couldn’t even make me come.”

He hummed. “Then they clearly didn’t know what they were doing. You make it quite simple.” She smiled, pressing into his touch as he stroked the side of her face, his fingers trailing down to brush back the hair that rested against her neck.

“I would say so,” she said with a laugh. “That was… what? Five, for the evening?”

“For now.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, shifting herself up to look down at him, her hands on either side of his body. “And when should I expect the next round?”

The corner of his lips quirked. “Now, if that is what you wish.”

Her eyes widened slightly “Already?” He nodded and her grin deepened. “Well aren’t you full of surprises?” she purred, lowering herself to his lips. He began to shift closer, guiding her to roll underneath him but she gave his shoulders a firm shove, pressing him onto his back. She smirked, nuzzling her nose against the side of his own as she brushed her mouth against his. “My turn,” she said. His eyes narrowed but he did not resist as she settled herself over him, brushing her hair back as her lips hovered over his skin. She traced a slow trail down his body, kissing and nipping, watching his face as she sank lower.

His lover had always been a competitive creature. In this, as in all things, she wanted to prove his equal.

She was not subtle in her actions, taking him in hand before running a long, slow lick along his length. He bit down on his lip, his eyes closing as he let out a hard sigh. He heard her laugh softly. “Eyes open, vhenan,” she said, repeating his earlier command. He obeyed, looking down at her, watching her grin before she took him into her mouth. Wet heat enveloped him, stirring a low groan from his throat, his skin still sensitive from their earlier passions. Her tongue was deliberate in its search, exploring him as she judged his responses. She was much like him in this respect; focused on her task, making a study of him so that she could silently know what brought him pleasure. Her tongue flicked and circled and teased, her lips tightening as he panted, his fingers sinking into her hair. How often had he thought of this image, her eyes bright and eager as she looked up at him, the hollow of her cheeks as her lips slid over his skin? It was an indulgence that he never thought he would allow himself, making the surrender all the more exquisite.

She had no intention of finishing him there, merely preparing him so that when she mounted she could sink herself down onto him with ease. Her body was a revelation. Beneath him she had angled herself to meet his thrusts, but above she had more freedom. It was clear she knew how to use her body to give pleasure, twisting her hips to grind him inside of her, her muscles bearing down, pulsing, dragging, tightening. He gripped her sides, pressing his power into her once more. She threw her head back, thrusting hard as she cried out.

He was surprised when she caught him by the wrists, bearing her weight down as she pinned his hands on either side of his head. She looked at him, determined, grinning, bearing her teeth as she continued to ride him. “I said,” she began, panting, “ _my_ turn.” She planted her hands against his chest, a sudden crackling burst of lightning trailing over his skin. He clenched his teeth, inhaling sharply as his back arched. Her magic was sharp and biting, just enough to feel pressure and vibration but not enough for pain. It shot through him fully, sending a hard throb through his veins. She did it again, simultaneously tightening around him and he bit back a growl, his eyes closing. “Keep your eyes on me, fade walker,” she said with a triumphant laugh, riding him harder.

She had never been more beautiful, lips parted and panting, challenging him with her gaze, throwing her head back as she found some new angle, some new cluster of nerves to grind him against. He watched as she drew close once again, eyes closing, brow tightening, the pitch of her voice lifting, muscles fluttering. His anticipation grew, pulling her hips down with his hands, wanting to guide her over the edge. His name could never sound more divine than when it came from her lips as she tumbled into that welling pool of sensation. He watched as her brow lifted, eyes still closed, a warm rush of euphoria easing her features. Her smile was pure bliss as her eyes opened once more to gaze down at him.

He never wanted to let this woman go.

Her pause was only momentary. She still hadn’t completed her task and her focus would not be swayed so easily. He spoke to her then, as her body brought him closer, his mind succumbing to the haze of easy pleasure. The words were ancient, not spoken in thousands of years. She would not understand him, but it did not matter. They had to be said. These weren’t the teasing words he’d whispered in her ear in the river. This was a pledge. He wanted to claim her as it had been done in another age, to declare that none other shall ever have her, that he alone would walk beside her in this life as well as in uthenera. It was a recitation from a world long gone, promises he never allowed himself to make, but the meaning behind them was true enough. He wanted her. He wanted to keep her.

It did not take long for her to bring him to his climax, sharp and bright and singing in his blood, more powerful than the last one. As he settled into the afterglow she was nothing but tenderness, humming kisses and nuzzling, delaying the inevitable parting of their bodies. “I have no idea what you just said.” She murmured with a huff of laughter. “But I want to hear it again.”

And so he repeated it, her face tucked against his neck, her body still wrapped around his. He stroked his hand lazily along her back, telling her in the poetry of a lost people that he would love her for all eternity, that time and space were meaningless as long as he held her to his side.

Perhaps this didn’t have to end as he had always predicted. Ever since he’d surrendered his heart to her, he planned on telling her the truth when this was all over. Not the whole truth – he would not tell her of his plans for fear of her trying to stop him, but she would know who he was. He owed her that much. He had assumed that her fear and distrust would drive her from him after his confession. But he now held onto this lingering hope that she would want to stay with him, that she would want to walk beside him down this path. Perhaps then he could protect her from what was to come. He decided then that when he told her the truth, he would give her that option. If she would have him, he would let her join him.

That night, he dreamt of taking her again. Only this time as she cried out for him, she used his true name with no hint of fear in her voice.


	10. Chapter 10

Solas woke slowly, eyes still closed as he took a deep breath, comfortably stretching along the tangled bedding. He could tell she had already risen for the day. The heat of her body was gone but her scent still lingered – on the furs she’d laid upon, on his skin. The scent of warm flesh and honey, of worn leather and fresh herbs and the faintest hint of lilac. There was a smile on his lips when his eyes opened, sunlight painting the inside of the tent in a welcoming glow. He shifted, sitting upright. His muscles were understandably fatigued. Much of the night had been spent focused on amorous aims rather than sleeping, attempts to rest foiled when the comfortable press of lying together became distracted by wandering hands and rekindled arousal. Still, he could not remember a time in which he felt more relaxed.

He could hear her shifting outside and he rose, slipping into his smallclothes before peeling back the tent flap.

She was dressing, stooped over to secure the straps that held long leg guards, stretching from her thighs to the tops of her feet. They were made of braided leather, distinctly Dalish in design, overlapping strips forming a v-shaped pattern as it followed the curves of her legs. She wore little else, donned only in her smalls. Her hair was loose, draped over her shoulder, falling against her breasts as she turned to look at him, a smile spreading on her lips.

“Sleep well?” she hummed, her brow arching suggestively.

“Quite.” He watched as she made quick work of finishing with the strapping, rising to stand upright.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He shook his head as she walked closer to him, pressing a long, slow kiss to his lips. She let out a contented sigh as she pulled her mouth from his, nuzzling him with the tip of her nose. “I’m surprised you didn’t seek me out in the Fade last night.”

“It appeared you needed rest,” he murmured.

She let out a low, satisfied laugh, pinching his lower lip playfully between her teeth. “That I did.” She kissed him on the cheek then, her arms slipping around him. “I have to say, you surprised me, vhenan. I don’t know _what_ I was expecting…but that was certainly not it.” She nipped his ear lightly, hugging him closer. “I’m happy to report that I was very pleasantly surprised. You were well worth the wait.”

He chuckled, guiding her with his touch until her face met his own. “I’m glad,” he whispered, kissing her again. There was a temptation then to linger in this moment. It was not lustful, though it had all the trappings – nearly naked bodies pressed into an embrace. But now their cravings turned toward affection, kisses feeling much like they had when the feel of one another was brand new and their hearts still beat to the rhythm of freshly-discovered infatuation.

She slipped away from him, moving back toward the neatly folded pile of clothing she’d been dressing from. “I fished our things out of the river,” she said. “I had intended on laying them out to dry last night… Understandably, I was a little sidetracked,” she added with a laugh. “We also let yesterday’s catch go to waste, but I wouldn’t say our time hunting was a total loss.” She slipped on her breastband, fastening it as he moved over to his pack, sifting through his supplies for a pair of breeches. “I spotted some Dalish traps when we made our rounds. We must be closer to their camp than I had originally thought – so I figured we could keep our encampment here and head out. They would only set traps within a short distance of their aravels – less than a day’s walk – so they must be nearby.”

He slipped on his breeches, taking his time in lacing them as he watched her. She was securing two braces to her arms, barely gracing the curve of her shoulders as they stretched down to her elbows, wrapping the outer portion of her arms in a protected sheath of woven leather. She bent down, picking up a shapeless green cloth as she glanced over to him, smiling. “Enjoying the view, emma lath?”

“I do not normally bear witness to you dressing.” His lips quirked slightly as he angled his head. “It is not as if you stripping in the middle of camp is a common occurrence when we travel together.”

“Not with a bunch of Inquisition soldiers around, no.” She laughed, hooking a corner of the cloth around one of the metal rings on her arm brace, pinned to her shoulder, repeating the process on the other side. “Can’t have the shems seeing their Herald in her smalls.” She picked up a second, larger bolt of fabric. At her behest, he helped her attach it to the rings that sat along the back of her shoulders, stealing a kiss to the nape of her neck before pulling away, satisfied by the small purring hum it sparked from her.

“It feels good to be back in my old clothes again,” she said, carefully pulling the cloth into place, overlapping it along her sides. She wound a sash tightly around her waist, the fabric beginning to take the shape of her curves. “I haven’t worn this since the day before the Conclave. Couldn’t exactly be an effective spy if I went in looking as _Dalishy_ as possible. I had a hard enough time obscuring my vallaslin.”

“And yet you held onto them this whole time? You could have easily used them over the course of our travels.”

She shook her head. “You’re an observant one, Solas. You must have noticed by now how people look at me. Even among those who believe I was chosen by Andraste herself, there is distrust because I’m Dalish. Even you were guilty of that, for a time.”

“It wasn’t-”

She spoke again before he could finish. “You had your reservations about me because of what I am.” She knotted the sash, running her hand along his cheek. “I’m not angered by that, Solas. For us, it’s long past. But it is something I have to consider with each person I come into contact with. I’m Dalish. There’s a lot that comes with that. There are many who fear us. Many more who hate us. I cannot hide what I am, nor do I want to. But if dressing myself like a shem soothes their apprehension, it seemed beneficial to do so.” She lowered her hand, thumping it softly against his chest. “Now, get yourself dressed. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

* * *

 

They were detected well before they reached the camp.

Isii had to give them credit – the scouts moved quietly. Solas heard them before she did, yet neither had time to react before they were surrounded. Four archers, bows at the ready, arrows nocked and aimed squarely on them. She saw her lover’s hand tighten around his staff but she gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. She was not worried. This was to be expected.

“Aneth ara, lethallinen,” she said with a steady voice.

“Drop your weapons,” one of the elves demanded. He was a fierce-looking man. Golden eyes fixed in a suspicious glare, his pale skin marked with the blessing of Andruil. The lines of his vallaslin were the color of darkened rust, similar to the deep auburn of his short-cropped hair. Most notable was his right ear where the tip had been cut clean off.

Isii removed her staff from its resting place against her back along with the bow intended for their Keeper. She slowly stooped down, setting the items carefully on the ground. Solas reluctantly did the same. “Who are you?” the same elf barked. It was quickly becoming clear that he was the one with seniority among the four of them.

“Isii. Hunter of the Free Marches and First of Clan Lavellan. Leader of the Inquisition.”

“And the flat ear?”

She could see Solas’ eyes narrowing. “His name is Solas,” she answered calmly. “A close companion and advisor.” It felt strange to refer to him in such terms. Not that they were untrue – she simply had not thought of him in that way for quite some time.

The look of suspicion did not lift from the elf’s features. This was to be expected. She knew that travelling into a Dalish camp with an outsider, elven or not, would be seen with distrust. His eyes darted between the two of them for a moment before focusing again on Isii. “Fly straight and do not waver,” he began and she could not help but smile at the familiar words. “Bend but never break. Together we are stronger than one.”

It was a test and she knew it, finishing the final phrase of the Vir Tanadhal. “We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.”

The archer appeared satisfied, easing the tension on his bowstring. With a nod from him, the others did the same, lowering their aim. “Sorry for doubting you, sister,” he said, his tone lighter. “It is not often we find one of our own travelling with a flat ear.”

“That is probably to the benefit of us lowly flat ears, I’d imagine.” Isii kept her face calm even as she clenched her jaw tightly. She saw the elf’s eyes narrow-in on Solas. While she wanted to thump him hard in the chest for the jab, she instead rested a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping an eye on the auburn-haired hunter.

“You will have to forgive him,” she said calmly. “He is new to our ways. Please take it as no insult.”

The man scoffed, smirking with a shrug. “What he says is of little concern to me.” She was thankful to see him laughing it off, though she silently prayed that Solas would not respond to his baiting. “What brings you to Clan Alasan?”

“We come seeking an audience with your Keeper,” she said, respectfully bowing her head. “It’s been brought to our attention that you have been having trouble with the local shemlen. We wish to help.”

He stared, evaluating her with his gaze as his head tilted. “Are you here on _their_ behalf, or do you intend to help get the shems off of our backs?”

“While I am here as a neutral party to help both sides come to an agreement, I possess a quality that is unique and advantageous to your situation,” she explained, offering a subdued smirk. “I am a Dalish who the shemlen are scared to piss off.”

That brought a genuine smile to the man’s face as he laughed. “Then you are more than welcome, Isii.” He bowed his head slightly, his hand pressing to his chest. “I am Virassan. That is Shiarana, Riya, and Fenthon.” He gestured to each of the others in kind. Shiarana and Riya were petite women, bearing enough of a resemblance to possibly be sisters. Fenthon was barely out of adolescence, his fierce scowl quickly melting into a dopey grin as Isii glanced over to him.

“Gather your things, then. We’ll escort you back to camp.” Virassan turned and the others followed in suit. Isii scooped up the bow and her staff quickly, catching Solas’ arm as he started to fall in step behind the others.

She hadn’t forgotten his little insult.

She leaned close, her lips next to his ear. “Behave yourself,” she whispered before giving the tip a hard bite. He hissed, pulling away, glaring as she gave him a firm look. He huffed out a sigh and she pulled away from him, following their new Dalish associates, hearing her lover’s footsteps close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Aneth ara – a casual greeting used among the Dalish.  
> Lethallinen – plural for lethallan/lethallin. Kin of a common blood.
> 
> ***  
> For anyone who is curious, [here is a rough sketch of the clothing Isii puts on in this chapter.](http://geeky-jez.tumblr.com/post/112888811968/for-anyone-who-is-curious-this-is-a-rough)  
> And we finally get to see some Dalish elves. As a special little behind-the-scenes tidbit - Virassan is actually one of my other in-game Inquisitors. I've just taken him out of Clan Lavellan and away from any of the events at the Conclave for the purposes of this story.  
>   
> 


	11. Chapter 11

“You must have made for a poor spy if the shemlen caught you.” Virassan murmured, grinning. Isii laughed brightly.

“Trust me, I was doing just fine keeping myself hidden. But suddenly emerging through a tear in the Veil and passing out has a way of getting you noticed. Even by oblivious shems.”

“Still – you have stayed with them this entire time?”

“I have,” she said, letting her fingers brush along the passing foliage as they walked.

“Don’t you hate it?”

“At first,” she admitted, shrugging. “But they needed me and I needed them. I’m the only one who can close these rifts and I am more likely to succeed with an army at my back. When they’re faced with their own destruction, humans have a tendency to be a bit more cooperative than usual.”

“Do they now?” Virassan scoffed. “Could have fooled me. The rift that forced us to move south didn’t exactly cause the locals to team up for the greater good. More like they were ready to loot anything that wasn’t nailed down as they fled.”

“Individuals get scared,” she reasoned. “Small groups turn into mobs. But get them organized and give them a reason to believe that what they are doing will make a difference and I’ve found they can be more reasonable. Besides,” she said with a wry smile, “as much as I hate it, it doesn’t hurt that they think I’m one of their god’s chosen.”

His laughter was genuine and cutting. “A deception worthy of the Dread Wolf, lethallan. I can only imagine how foolish they all feel bowing down to some filthy knife ear.”

She chuckled, her brow arching. “I wouldn’t exactly take credit for the trick. More like I see the advantage in allowing for their ignorance. But anyone who knows me knows that their god is not one of my own.”

Solas didn’t know why she chose that moment to glance back at him, though he did not attribute any meaning to it. He’d remained silent through much of their walk, doing little more than watching and listening as she chatted with their escorts. Their demeanor surprised him somewhat. The group’s initial suspicion appeared to settle quickly into a strange camaraderie – like distant cousins comparing notes on how their families had grown during their separation. They spoke on subjects that Solas had little knowledge of – clan histories and the events of the last Arlathvhen. Isii had a certain thirst for information that he found somewhat surprising. From how little she spoke of the Dalish, he had gotten the impression that theirs was a way of life she had all-but-abandoned willingly. Yet now, there was a brightness to her smile and an eager quality to her tone.

He didn’t know quite how he felt about that.

Their path reached the peak of a small slope, the rounded aravels coming into view. He spotted the small wolf statue that stood guard beside the trail. It was an old superstition, one that pre-dated the formation of the Dalish – the notion that the image of the Dread Wolf would scare off your foes. There was a time when that belief held a level of nuance. His supplicants did not come to him seeking power or wealth but protection. They wanted to see their enemies driven away – either brought down by their own hubris or tormented with visions while they slept. He was by no means entirely benevolent. His intervention always came with a price. It was not unheard of for those who called upon him to find themselves victims of his harrowing nightmares if he judged them unworthy. But he was never the simplistic boogeyman the elves today believed him to be.

He saw Isii’s hand absentmindedly move to the statue as they passed, fingers curling lightly over the figure’s scruff as one would do when greeting a favored pet. He was not alone in noting the gesture curiously, but when asked by Virassan she simply brushed it off as an old habit from home.

Solas did nothing to hide the small, private smile on his lips.

* * *

 

“I have heard of the Inquisition, da’len,” the Keeper said sternly, his eyes as hardened as his tone as he studied Isii, “but I hold no interest in it. Why would I wish to work alongside an organization of Andrastians?”

Isii’s smile was delicate. Political. “Allow me to clarify, hahren,” she said, bowing her head politely. “While many who serve the Inquisition are motivated by their faith, we are not a religious organization – nor are we bound to the shemlen’s Chantry. In fact, they knowingly entrusted their leadership to me with the full knowledge that I keep to the gods of the People.”

Keeper Senthel was not a man who possessed a kind face. His features were rigid, Sylaise’s vallaslin snaking across his skin, marred and twisted by heavy wrinkles. Their meeting had gone much in the way Solas had predicted. Once moved into a private tent, they were treated with the same cold suspicion the scouts had originally expressed. The gift of the bow had warmed him over somewhat and Isii’s patient charm was slowly chipping away at his wary reserve. “I suppose I can see value in having a pure elf hold so much sway with the shems, even if I do not fully understand the circumstances.”

Solas did not miss the subtle movement of the man’s eye, glancing over to him as he spoke of elven purity. Isii’s smile shifted – widening over a clenched jaw. It was remarkably similar to the expression she held during much of their time at the Winter Palace. “What I fail to see is why the Inquisition has any interest in our conflict with Allaire,” Senthel added.

“Allaire reached out to us to intercede. I will admit, he wished for us to act on his behalf, but has agreed to our terms. I am to work as an intermediary and assist the two of you in coming to some sort of an agreement.”

“And I should trust the word of a First who abandoned her clan?”

For a moment, the careful diplomacy of her expression cracked. There was a sudden flash in her eyes, angry lips pursed tightly. It was clear the words had stung, her tone barely hiding its defensive quality as she spoke. “I have done no such thing,” she said. “Keeper Deshanna has given me her blessing. The fate of the world depends upon the actions of the Inquisition – a fact she understands well. If we fail, the People will fall to a fate far worse than what we have suffered. I do this for my clan and the Elvhen first and foremost.”

Senthel gave her an appraising look, studying her for a moment before waving with a dismissive hand. “I have no interest in creating some arrangement with the shem lordling,” he said bitterly. “He has sent his messengers before. People armed with meaningless paperwork and angry words. I have always met with them, extending far more respect than they deserve, and they always depart without the results they seek. They have threatened us, but we have stood our ground. We will not be moved again. We have a stronger claim to this land than that shem does. We actually live here. He does not. The fact that his name is on some piece of paper means little to us.”

Solas knew better than to speak his mind. It would not help Isii’s cause to tell the man he was a fool to believe he could simply ignore the humans and their laws without a plan of action to actively resist their eventual retaliation. A plot of land to a nomadic people was a pathetic excuse for a rebellion, especially considering that it was a fight they could not hope to win. Isii’s insistence to intervene was a blessing they did not deserve – one that would not be extended to them had fate chosen another to be bound to the anchor. This was a waste of time, a diversion from the problems they should be focusing on, only deemed worthy of her attention by her own generosity. The Keeper did not appear to appreciate just how grateful he should be for her sympathy.

If Isii felt the same way, she did not let it show on her face, her calm composure returning. “Be that as it may, human law says he has a claim to this place. As long as there is no formal arrangement between you two, he is within his right by their society to retaliate. Most other humans will support him in this. You have to know that it is inevitable that something has to change. I want to help you find a permanent home here, if that is what you truly seek.” She gave a polite nod. “I came to you first in order to pay my respects and to learn what terms might be worthy of proposing to him in settling this dispute.”

The Keeper let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We will discuss terms. But I speak to you alone,” he said pointedly. There was no question of his meaning as he glanced at Solas.

Isii’s fist clenched slightly before relaxing, her expression never changing as she calmly turned to address him. “Wait for me outside.” There was an impersonal quality to her tone. It was not the request of a lover. It was an order from a commander. Still, he could see the subtle tension in the corners of her eyes. It was possible that she was unhappy with having to ask him to leave or fearful that he would object. Perhaps a bit of both. He nodded, wordlessly exiting the tent. It was better that way. He would gain nothing but their ire if he argued and he was determined not to add unnecessary complication to her mission.

And so the Dread Wolf, alone and in the middle of a Dalish camp, leaned up against a tree and watched.

The Dalish moved about in a carefully-orchestrated manner, yet the mood was relaxed. Everyone had their role and their place. Some elves trained with weapons while others were busy crafting and repairing them.  A few men and women cooked, chatting and humming as the aroma of the evening meal began to grow in intensity. Children gathered around an older woman who spoke slowly and patiently, scratching words into the dirt with a stick. A few of the littlest ones, too young for formal learning, were scampering about, giggling and squealing as they darted between the aravels in a game of hide and seek.

His presence did not go unnoticed, by any means. Though none tried to engage him, the day’s activities were peppered with stolen looks and quieted conversations. The children were more open with their gawking. The sight of an adult who did not bear the vallaslin would make him quite the novelty in their eyes. Reactions varied. Curiosity. Distrust. Dislike that had not quite fully blossomed into hatred, yet clearly held that potential. He knew that to them, his plain skin marked him. At best, he was pitiable – an elf who was raised in human slums and did not know any better. At worst, he was a traitor – one of their kind who had abandoned the old ways in order to cower at the feet of the shemlen who enslaved them.

The arbitrary boundaries the People drew among themselves continued to baffle him.

He took note of an adolescent girl who lingered on the outside of the Keeper’s tent, anxiously pacing, her fingers worrying the worn wood of her staff. She was old enough to bear vallaslin – but only just, by his estimation. The mage eventually got up the nerve to poke her head beyond the tent flap, sharing a few words before slipping inside.

By the time Isii reemerged from the tent, her demeanor had relaxed considerably. The girl hovered close to her side, clearly fascinated by the conversation they were engaged in. Based on how his lover gestured, holding her glowing palm for the girl to inspect, he supposed the mage had inquired about the anchor. When Isii’s eyes met his, she politely excused herself, a quiet smile on her lips as she approached. Even so, she maintained a noticeable distance between them as she drew near – reserved and professional, mimicking how things had once been between them. He understood and made no remark. Here, he was her advisor. Nothing more.

“I take it that went well?” he inquired.

“He’s willing to negotiate,” she responded quietly. “I have a few proposals I can present to Allaire when we meet with him. I’ll need to eventually get the two of them into a room together, but for now, it’s a start.” She leaned forward, brow lifted as she whispered. “I’m sorry I asked you to leave. I trust you’re not upset?”

“This is not the first time I have been met with distrust by the Dalish, nor will it be the last.” He reassured her with a smile, pushing away from his resting place. “Shall we depart?”

She shook her head. “Keeper Senthel offered for us to stay for the evening meal. I’ve already accepted his invitation.” His face must have shown more of his displeasure than he had anticipated because she grinned, laughing. “Come now, fade walker. It won’t be as bad as you expect. Besides, it’s been a very long time since I’ve broken bread among my own kind. I’m certain you can indulge my nostalgia for an evening.” Her eyes quickly scanned their surroundings, certain no one would overhear as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “If you find it truly unbearable, I can already think of a few ways in which I could make it up to you.”

There was heat in that promise, a playful look in her eyes as she arched her brow subtly. He looked down at her, his lips toying with a small smirk as he nodded. “I will remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next time we'll get to the chapter that was the inspiration for writing this whole thing. Solas did say in [Ma Halamshiral](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2908469/chapters/6481070) that he'd like to see Isii dancing in the Dalish style...


	12. Chapter 12

She came alive among them.

It was a strange sight to see; as heartwarming as it was oddly distressing. Isii had a connection to these people – elves who had been strangers to her only a few short hours earlier. The bond was familial. The great majority of them accepted her as one of their own without question. Though she was the strange woman who travelled with a flat ear, who lived her life among shems, she was still unquestionably Dalish in their eyes. Solas realized with no small amount of discomfort that he no longer thought of her as such. She was so much more than her narrow-minded brethren. She did not dismiss the misery of others based on the shape of their ears nor did she allow her superstitions to overcome rational thought. She was no more Dalish in her manner than he was. He knew it would be a mistake to assume she shared his view in this. It was a part of her identity. It always would be.

He followed Isii’s cues throughout the course of the meal, silently watching as she engaged the others. Most of the camp sat in an imperfect circle atop the flattened grasses and bare earth, ground well-tread by their encampment. The food had been brought out to them by the handful of adolescents who were given the task of serving. The various assortments of worn wooden bowls and plates held a dish of slow-roasted meat and vegetables in a sauce thickened with boiled grains. There were no utensils save for thin rounds of flat bread used for tearing and scooping. It was distinct from the food he had been eating among the humans, though not entirely foreign. There was little in the way of seasoning, probably due to their lack of friendly trading with the local humans, but the freshness of the ingredients lent a pleasant intensity to the flavor.

As the meal drew to a close, musicians pulled out their instruments. A few danced, though they were mostly small children aimlessly stomping out something that resembled a rhythm while the adults laughed. There was a leisurely quality to the affair, most of the elves lingering well after their plates had been picked clean. Solas eyed Isii, wondering precisely how long they were expected to stay. It was already dusk. The thought occurred to him that their hosts may make the gracious offer for them to stay the night. The idea that she might accept did not please him. His desire to leave had little to do with his dislike of the Dalish. His motives were far more selfish. He wanted to be alone with her again. Thoughts of the intimacy they shared the night before left him even more eager in that respect.

The music began in earnest – a series of drummers pounding out a quickened beat as the sound of a pipe pierced the air. Stings followed – an instrument that more closely resembled a human fiddle than anything he recognized as Elven. The reaction from the crowd was almost immediate. Much like the humans at Halamshiral with their interludes informing dancers to take their positions, this was clearly a signal to do the same. Their numbers were few at first, but there were those who rose to their feet, moving to the center of the circle. Some needed encouragement, playfully pushed by those they sat with or coaxed by one of the few who took to the task of inviting others to join. A circle formed, two sets of dancers moving in opposition to one another. The pairs wove in and out of the path – meeting, clasping hands and turning, already reaching for the next dancer to pass in the line. None seemed to lose their stride as others joined, stomping out the rhythm in what appeared to be a way to sync them all to the same beat. A young girl, eager to encourage others to dance, scurried over to Isii with her hands outstretched. The Inquisitor shot a quick glance to Solas, smiling broadly as she leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Here’s your chance to see me dance like a Dalish heathen.” Her eyes flashed with mischief as she pulled away, quickly rising to her feet. A small grin tugged at his lips as she took the girl’s hand, allowing herself to be dragged into the line. She fell into step immediately, dipping in quickly before becoming a part of the moving stream of bodies.

It was a dance of constant movement. Stomping. Clapping. Rushing past one another at an almost frantic pace. Signals were given by the drummers – wordless shouts that seemingly made sense to all but Solas as the dancers responded, changing formation until new faces met, new hands clasped, new exchanges were made. They would break from their line and form into pairs, couples sharing a few fevered heartbeats together before passing to another. It was much like watching a flock of birds suddenly change direction. Each body knew instinctively to move, a part of the haphazard choreography that loosely shaped the otherwise chaotic dance. The pairs would use their time however it suited them – bodies clashing and then parting in a varied display. It was a communal act, all those involved moving as equals, all united in a common rhythm until their hearts practically beat as one.

Solas could not take his eyes off of Isii. It was by no means the first time he’d seen her dance. He’d watched her at Halamshiral, stiff and uncertain, wholly uncomfortable in her attempt to mold herself to human customs. He had danced with her then, though it had been brief, cut short as they were drawn to far more intimate pursuits. There were other nights where he had taken her in his arms, nights where he indulged her curiosity by teaching her dances from Elvhenan. He’d even seen her dance in the tavern at Skyhold, fuelled by drink and merriment, mocking the Southerners and their jigs in a manner that left her companions aching with laughter.

But this was different.

The way she danced now was fluid, confident, as if this was how her body was always meant to move. She stomped and twisted, hips swaying as each new gesture caused the rest of her form to follow suit. A man would open his arms to her and she would take the cue, no words shared, laughing as she leapt up into them. Her legs would kick and he would turn and soon she’d fly away from him again, lunging forward with the momentum of their spinning only to find a new partner waiting for her. She would meet with a child, taking them by the hand, twirling them until they were squealing only to part from them, a young man quickly wrapping an arm around her waist to claim her for the next few seconds. Solas could plainly see that there was more than one man who positioned himself in such a fashion, eager to meet her in these passing pairings. A few of them succeeded more than once. He could not blame them for their interest. She was magnetic. Her smile was broader, head thrown back with breathless laughter. The way she moved looked natural, free, liberated in a way he had only rarely seen with her.

Virassan was among those men who pursued her, the young archer seeming delighted whenever they would meet as a pair. He made no gestures that were inappropriate. He danced with her as any man would dance with a beautiful stranger they’d just met and she responded with the same enthusiasm she shared with everyone else. Solas found himself wondering if she ever would have bonded with a man like that – if the Conclave had never happened, if her life had never strayed from its original path. Would she have been happy among the Dalish? Watching her now, it seemed unmistakable. His actions had taken her away from a life that she had truly enjoyed – a life she may one day wish to return to.

The line reformed, dancers falling back into their woven circle but with the faster pace they now flew past one another. Hands grasped and released, bodies meeting and parting. The drummers let out a few more shouts and the crowd rose in a chorus of their own jubilant cries. The pipes stopped. The strings ceased. Only the drums remained, finishing the song to applause – both from dancers and their audience.  

Isii was winded but exhilarated as she returned to his side, giggling as she sat down next to him. Solas leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “How much longer do you intend for us to stay?”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. “Oh? Eager to leave? Perhaps I want to stay and dance.”

“I would hate for you to exhaust yourself, vhenan.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is that so?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, slipping her hand over his own. It was a small gesture, shielded from prying eyes by their bodies, yet it was one of the only times she’d touched him since they entered the camp. “Is there a particular reason you want me to stay energetic?” He did little to suppress his smile and she let out a soft, warm laugh. He parted his lips to speak again but her attention shifted, drifting back to the center of the circle as Virassan’s voice lifted.

“Another dance!” he called, the young man grinning. “An alas’nira’era. Suggestions!”

Isii drew her hand away, straightening her posture. The moment had passed. She was his Inquisitor once more, not his lover. He felt no insult and yet the inability to sate his desire to draw her closer vexed him.

A number of voices rose to respond to the archer’s words. _The Brothers and the Veil. The First Halla. The Huntress and the Wolf._

Virassan repeated the last one back to them and the crowd voiced their enthusiasm for the selection. Solas tried to keep his irritation from showing, mentally preparing himself for what he imagined would be an altogether laughable mockery of himself and Andruil. The young archer’s eyes fell upon Isii and Solas gritted his teeth, knowing what was coming. The fact that she held his interest was more than clear. He took a few steps towards them, grinning. “Would our guest do me the honor of being my Huntress?”

Solas’s stomach churned. It wasn’t jealousy. The mere thought of her embodying that madwoman, even for something as silly as a pantomime, did not sit well with him. Still, he voiced no objection, keeping his thoughts unexpressed. Isii smiled politely. “You bear her vallaslin and you ask me to dance as Andruil? I’m the one who should feel honored.” Virassan’s face brightened as she rose to her feet. “I take it you will be my Wolf?”

He answered only with a smirk, his brow arching as he backed away toward the center of the circle. Isii followed, laughing softly. She shot one brief glance back to Solas before the drumming began. Their rhythm was a slow heartbeat, the musician with the fiddle readying herself before joining in. The two dancers faced each other at a distance. Isii stretched, rolling her shoulders, twisting her wrists as they began to circle one another. Each step was deliberate and prolonged, her body undulating with each movement from her neck down to her bare feet. Her eyes were locked with Virassan’s, their look both playful and challenging- equally predatory. Her hips rolled as she relaxed further into the dance. It was a show for him. An invitation.

The Wolf advanced.

Solas quickly learned the nature of the dance. It was a chase. An adversarial piece. They would stalk one another, launch themselves in a mimicry of combat, their bodies clashing until one was forced to withdraw only for the cycle to continue anew. He could see it was in-part improvisational. They presented for one another, offered challenges, each giving and taking. There was a level of desire to their gestures as well as aggression. The Wolf drew in close behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her hips back against him with a sharp snap. Isii’s eyes darted to Solas, though he could not be certain if the look was meant to tantalize or reassure him. The Wolf sank his fingers into her hair, angling her head, his nose dragging against the side of her neck before the Huntress struck him in the chest, knocking him back. Isii was smiling. Offense wasn’t taken. It was a part of the dance, a game between the two of them. She made similar advances, wrapping her arms around Virassan only for him to slip away. The Huntress took him by the throat, drawing her lips close to his before the Wolf snapped his teeth. Eager hands reached for her and she simply spun away, dodging his attempts to touch her. The crowd laughed at each exchange, clapping and stomping in time to the rhythm as it slowly sped up.

They circled, faster now, heads angled low, both of them hunting. She pantomimed drawing daggers from her belt, grinning as he gave a subtle nod, the gesture accepted. She lunged at him, slashing with her imaginary weapons as he slipped away from her, chuckling. He grabbed her by the arm as she swung for a second time, pulling her against his body – his thigh between her legs, his hand on her lower back. She snaked her arm around his neck but he ducked down, trying to spin out of her reach. She caught him by the hair, tugging his head back. The crowd roared as the Huntress brought the blade to the Wolf’s throat and Solas’s skin began to crawl. Isii was smiling. Laughing. Virassan was laughing. All around him he saw nothing but grinning faces, clapping, stomping, urging her on.

The Wolf caught her arm before the Huntress could make the killing blow. He jerked his head away, forcing her to turn until her arm was pinned behind her, pulled back against his body. His teeth were bared, pressed to her throat but not biting, Virassan grinning through a snarl before he shoved her forward roughly. Isii stumbled, catching herself in a crouch as she turned, sliding back in the dirt. The crowd was stomping harder as a chant soon lifted from them, matching the maddening pounding of the drums.

_Boras na’assan, Andruil._

_Boras na’assan, Andruil._

_Let your arrow fly._

Isii made a show of it, performing her role well, stirring the crowd’s enthusiasm. She lifted her brow, hooking her hand to her ear and their shouts grew louder. _Boras, ilelan! Dalas! Dalas!_ Solas sneered despite himself, the bridge of his nose creasing as his brow tightened. _Calling for my death as a part of their merriment? Perhaps they do not fear me enough,_ he thought bitterly before immediately brushing the idea aside. If he were truly the monster they said he was, he would leave this place in ashes for this display. But that was not who he was. That was never who he was.

Isii was breathing hard as she pantomimed nocking an arrow, rolling her shoulder as she slowly drew back on the imaginary bowstring. Virassan hunched forward, snarling, snapping his teeth, howling. There was a certain gleeful madness in his eyes, a smirk lingering behind his performance. Isii took careful aim at the Wolf. _Boras na’assan! Boras, ilelan!_ Stomping. Clapping. Drummer’s hands racing. The chant had a lifeblood of its own. _Boras, ilelan! Dalas, ilelan!_

Isii playfully bit her lip, smiling as she let the arrow fly. The Wolf dodged artfully, leaping, spinning. The crowd cheered all the same. This was a part of the narrative. Fen’harel always survives. The Wolf gave a deep, mocking bow, flourishing as he glanced up to the Huntress, giving her a wink. The Huntress snarled, baring gritted teeth even as Isii was trying to stifle a giggle. Virassan turned on his heels and fled the circle, the last notes of the song accompanied by the Wolf’s laughter as the crowd’s rhythmic clapping broke into applause.

Isii released the pantomime, bright rippling laughter rolling off of her as she rose from her crouched position. She clasped hands with Virassan as he rejoined her, the man grinning as she clapped him on the shoulder, leaning forward to murmur something briefly in his ear. He chuckled as they parted. Solas rose to his feet as Isii approached, catching her before she sat down. “Might I have a word, Inquisitor?”

There was a brief flash of concern in her eyes before she nodded. He said nothing more, walking toward the edge of the camp as she followed close behind. His stride was steady, briskly leading them past the tree line. He wanted to go far enough away so that they would not be seen or heard. Isii eventually caught him by the arm. “Is everything alright?”

 _This is as good a place as any in terms of privacy_ , he thought, turning to face her. In one fluid movement he brought his hand to her jaw, guiding her head as he slated his mouth over hers. She whimpered softly in surprise, stiffening at the sudden contact before melting against it. He pushed forward a few steps, inching her back until he had her pressed against a tree, his body covering hers. She let out a small pleasured gasp when he released her lips, peering up at him, smiling through her confusion. “What did I do to earn this?” she asked, running her hands along his chest, her nails scratching lightly against his tunic.

He kissed her once more, a soft, brief press before answering. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he murmured, nuzzling her jaw aside to give him access to her neck. “I felt as though I could not touch you back there. Not without their judgment.”

He felt her shudder, letting out a satisfied hum as he began to kiss her throat, her head falling back. “You know I don’t care about that.”

“You do,” he said, nipping her as she let out another soft whimper. “You should.” Her grip tightened on his shoulder as his lips gently massaged the bite. “Believe me, if they knew the full truth of it, those people would disapprove of our intimacy far more than you know.”

“Then let them,” she whispered, guiding his lips up to meet hers. He was hungry for her affection, spoiled by the days they’d spent alone together getting there. His hand trailed down her side, easing the draped cloth of her armor up, his fingers tracing along her outer thigh. She moaned, writhing as he brushed the tingling heat of his magic against her skin. Her body was so much more accessible in her Dalish clothing. It would be so simple to slip the cloth from its fastening at her shoulders or pull it up around her hips. Though he would not act on that impulse, he could not help but let his thoughts linger there.

She squirmed as he teased her with his touch, her breaths hitched by the time she broke away from his kiss. “We can’t do this here.”

“I am well aware,” he said, his voice low as he dipped his hand toward her inner thigh. “I have no intention of doing anything other than whetting your appetite.” She gasped at the sudden surge of energy, letting out a whining groan as she pushed his hand away.

“You’re evil,” she said with a laugh, grinning up at him.

“So I’ve been told.” He kissed her again. She was giggling by the time he pulled away, her brow arched.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous,” she said teasingly. “Did seeing me dance with another man make you feel you needed to reclaim your territory?”

Solas chuckled softly, his face inches from her own as he smiled. “Jealous? Of the little hunter boy? What is there to be jealous of, vhenan?” He leaned in toward her ear, guiding her chin up with the crook of his finger before his touch trailed slowly down the soft skin of her throat. “My hands know you more intimately than his ever will. And what do I care if you dance with another?” He relished the sound of her breaths, heavy and wanting as he whispered to her. “I intend to do far more with your body than dancing.”

She turned her head to look at him, still skeptical as her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying there was no part of you just now that wanted to be my Wolf?”

Solas did not stop the slanted grin from pulling the corner of his mouth. “I already am,” he murmured, growling softly as he slated his mouth over hers in a rough kiss. She embraced it, giggling as he bit down on her lip, pulling herself closer until he instinctively picked her up, her legs wrapping around him.

It was enough of a confession for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Alas’nira’era – a form of Dalish dancing in which the performers act out a story, often pertaining to their myths and legends. Taken from the Project Elvhen word alas’nira (to dance) and era (story).  
> Boras na’assan, Andruil – Let loose your arrow, Andruil (lit. throw your arrow)  
> Dalas – You kill (pronoun implied by conjugation)  
> Ilelan – one who hunts sentient beings. Sacrificer. Hunter. 
> 
> Sorry that this chapter took waaaaay too long for me to finish. I kept getting stuck in some spots and allowed myself to get distracted by other projects during the writer's block.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content.

She was warmth and light and laughter, her body writhing against his as her thighs tightened their grip on his waist. She embraced him with her whole body, lips pressed to his as he held her up, his hands settling along the curve of her backside. She was giggling as she pulled away from his kiss, hair framing her cheeks as she pressed her brow to his own. “So you’re my Wolf now, is that it? And what should I have my Wolf do? Take me?”

She was laughing as he pulled back, his brow lifting incredulously. “A predictable joke.”

“I couldn’t resist,” she said, biting her lip. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve snuck off from camp to go steal some kisses in the woods. You have us acting like a couple of elvar’lasan.”

“Perhaps I was overeager?”

“I think I like you overeager,” she purred, kissing him again. Her kiss was hungry, laced with muffled moans. He nipped at her lips, the pinch of his teeth making her shudder, her hips shifting against his own. Their newfound intimacy had rekindled an appetite within him that he had not felt since he was a much younger man. It wasn’t mere lust. It was the thrill of being able to connect to her in a way he had been denying himself. He’d told himself for months that crossing that line with her would only result in furthering the pain of their eventual parting, but he could see now that he’d simply been a pessimist. This wasn’t guaranteed for failure. There was a chance she would accept him for who he was. Her rejection wasn’t inevitable. Banal nadas.

She was tightening her arms around him, shifting to nip at his neck when they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Fenthon, the youth who had been among the archers who first greeted them, stared at the pair awkwardly. Solas quickly lowered her feet to the ground. She pinched her lips, trying to hide both embarrassment and amusement as she straightened out her clothing. “Keeper says it’s time for you to gather your things and go,” the boy said, his brow furrowed. “I’m supposed to escort you out of our camp.”

Isii nodded, shifting her hair to cover the marks he’d left on her throat. “Serannas, lethallin,” she said, forcing a relaxed smile. Fenthon’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing more as he gestured for them to go. Isii held her head up as they passed, walking toward the aravels. The boy muttered low as he followed, barely giving his words breath.

“Palelan i shem’len uren’barast.”

Solas knew that Isii did not hear him. If she had, she would have reacted. Even as his hand tightened into a fist, Solas kept his thoughts to himself, showing no other sign of recognition.

It was better that way.

***

The woods were relatively peaceful that night as they made their way back to their encampment. The moon was full and bright, distant howls and yips echoing among the chirp and hum of nearby crickets. Isii couldn’t help but smile. She found it soothing and so incredibly familiar. It took her back to nights when she would quietly creep away from camp, out past the statue of Fen’Harel, beyond the outskirts where she could lie under the stars and let herself sink into the rhythm of the forest.

Solas stirred as she slipped her hand into his, drawn out of his thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we left, vhenan. Something on your mind?”

He glanced down at her, his eyes coated in pearlescent green as they reflected the moonlight. He studied her for a moment, frowning. “You were happy among Clan Lavellan, weren’t you?”

She peered at him curiously. “I was.”

His gaze lowered. “Ah.”

“Ah?” she repeated, her brows lifting. “Why do you ask?”

“Watching you tonight was…” His words left him, his eyes focused on the trail. “I cannot help but wonder what your life would have been if you had never come into contact with the orb. If you would have been happier.”

“I wouldn’t have met you,” she murmured, squeezing his hand tighter. He smiled softly, glancing over to her.

“Surely there would have been someone else.”

“There’s never been anyone like you, Solas,” she said, shaking her head. “Not for me.”

“You’re being sentimental. Saying it because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

She laughed. “It’s the truth.”

“You’ve had other lovers.”

“But none of them were…. _this_ ,” she said, her words fleeing her. She didn’t know how to describe what their relationship was, but it was far beyond anything she had ever experienced before. “My lovers were people I sought pleasure with, who I enjoyed spending time with. Nothing against them, but they didn’t know me the way you do. This is the first time it’s ever really _meant_ anything…. if that even makes sense,” she added with a depreciating laugh.

“It does,” he said quietly.

She lifted their clasped hands to her lips, kissing along his knuckles. “If I hadn’t gotten the mark, if I’d never gone to the Conclave… I’d still be in the Free Marches. Deshanna would still be grooming me for the role of Keeper. Given that the Arlathvhen is happening this year, she probably would have been pressuring me more than ever to find a bondmate from another clan during the event.”

“Was that truly a concern of hers?”

Isii laughed. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Ever since I got my vallaslin, she’d make comments about how I was going to make a good mate and mother. She didn’t push much at first. But once I passed my thirtieth year, she was blunt as ever about her feelings. She’d lecture me about how it’s my duty to the People to have children, to keep the pure Elven alive. It’s what was always expected of me, of every Dalish woman. When she was being less favorable, she’d call me selfish for throwing away perfectly good partnerships rather than trying to develop them into something more permanent. Suffice it to say, she didn’t approve of the women I took as lovers either.” She glanced up at him with a wry smile. “She’d probably accept you, albeit a little begrudgingly. She wouldn’t exactly be happy that I’m with a lin’mor’varla, but at least you’re an elven man. Our children wouldn’t be pure blooded, but at least they would be elves.”

“There is that,” he muttered.

“You know I don’t think that way, don’t you?” she said, tightening her grip on his hand. “The only difference between us lies in culture and faith. I’ve always seen you as my equal from the very start.”

“I know.”

“Even though I’ve heard my Keeper say the same things about flat ears that I’ve heard echoed at the Arlathvhenan, she doesn’t really feel that way either. No matter what she says, if she saw a city elf in trouble she would help them. Dalish or no, an elf is an elf. If Deshanna met you now, knowing what we are to each other, she would give her blessing in the form of immediately asking me when I intended on getting pregnant,” she chuckled.

He was quiet for a time, his brow furrowing. “On that subject,” he murmured, pausing to choose his words, “I was rather reckless last night in that regard. I realize I should have been more considerate. Now is not a good time to take that sort of risk. Not with the demands the Inquisition places upon you.”

She laughed. “Solas, this isn’t exactly my first time. I wouldn’t have offered myself to you if I didn’t have certain preventative measures to fall back on.” He peered at her curiously. “Tinctures. I’ve had them in my pack since Skyhold.”

His brows lifted, chuckling quietly. “So, there you have it. The real reason you dragged me all the way out here.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “I simply had my suspicions that this might happen.” She grinned, pausing to pull him closer. “I wanted to be ready in case you finally decided to say yes.”

He kissed her, brushing hair back from her neck. “And how many of these tinctures did you bring, precisely?”

“Enough,” she said as he trailed his lips down to her throat.

“Are you certain about that?” he asked, nipping at her skin.

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” She laughed, drawing away from his mouth and pulling him down the path with her. “Come on. The sooner we make it back to our camp, the better.”

***

He lit their campfire, carefully stoking the flames with his fingertips. She joined him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head before sitting down beside him, slowly unfastening the straps that held her leg braces in place. “So, fade walker,” she started, grinning, “what do you think you would be doing if you hadn’t gotten involved with the Inquisition? You said you were nearby when the Breach happened?”

He nodded. “Close enough the blast nearly shook down the tavern I was in.”

“And if you hadn’t been?”

“Once I learned of the Breach, I would have gone to investigate it. Until then, I suppose I would continue to wander, exploring the Fade as I had before.”

“And when Corypheus is defeated, you’ll go back to that?”

“I may. What of you? Do you intend to return to your clan one day?”

She rubbed her hands over her legs, massaging away the indentations left by the leather straps. “You’d hate it, so no.”

He studied her for a moment, his tone softening. “And if I were not with you? If you were making the decision for yourself alone?”

She grinned, crawling over to him. “Are you planning to run off somewhere, Solas?” She pushed herself into his lap and he allowed it, shifting to lean back against his hands to accommodate as she straddled him. “Do I need to find some way to pin you down?” she murmured playfully, nipping his ear with her teeth.

His hand moved to her waist, stroking the small of her back. “That’s not an answer.”

She looked down into his face, cradling his jaw between her hands. “I’d go wherever you’d go. That would be my choice.”

He stared at her, studied her. Her eyes were shining with a mixture of fire and moonlight, hair draped in gentle waves down her side. Her vallaslin was faint in the low light, June’s boughs barely tracing her cheeks, dipping to her lips. “Do you really mean that?” he whispered.

The smile that spread across her face was so stunningly beautiful – tender and serene as she looked into his eyes. “With all my heart.” She leaned down to kiss him and it was perfection. Gentle and loving and longing. He went willingly as she pushed him down onto his back, caressing her as she settled above him. They stayed like that for a time, slowly surrendering to one another, breaths growing heavier with each press, hitched, wanting. His hands moved to the sash at her waist, worrying the knot loose before unwinding it. She pulled away from his lips, grinning down at him as her clothing draped loosely from her shoulders. “Do you want to retire to our tent?”

He shook his head, brushing her hair back. “Here,” he whispered, sliding his other hand up along the bare skin of her hip. “Right here.”

She giggled, biting his lip. “You want to take me under the stars?”

He rolled her over and she went willingly, his lips on her throat, his tongue finding her ear. “I would have the stars memorize the sound of your cries so they could sing them back to me each night as I sleep.”

She laughed, a bright rippling sound as her brows lifted. “Been waiting a long time to use that line, have you?”

He kissed her again, consumed her laughter with his lips and she willingly gave. They went slowly, exploring one another, peeling back layers of cloth until both lay bare. It wasn’t hurried or desperate. They touched, they teased, they took one another in turns and he allowed himself to fully give in to this moment.

He could not help but question why he’d resisted for so long. He could have had a year of this. A year of holding her body to his own, losing himself inside her, their breath and their blood moving to a single rhythm. He could have spent a year exploring all the ways she wanted him, studying each tremor and pulse, learning the tenor of her voice until he could summon pleasure from her as easily as he pulled from the Fade. He could have had a year of the warmth and intimacy of bared flesh, of laughter mixed with moans, of a sense of satiety that did nothing to lessen the desire to seek more. It wasn't just sex. It wasn't about desperately seeking some source of release. Moving within her, being enveloped by her - it felt right in a way he could not put into words.

She bathed in the river afterwards and he joined her, cleansed her as he kissed her.  They lay by the fire when they were through, naked and shameless. It all felt so simple. His past did not matter, nor did his future. He had her, he loved her and she was his. She had him, she loved him and he was undeniably hers. Her voice was soft, her lips tender as she pressed kisses to his skin, murmuring daydreams of fleeing the world when this was all over. They could have this whenever they wanted, day after day. No more shems calling her Herald, no more Inquisition, no more people to save or world-changing battles to wage. Just this. She told him she didn't need anything more than this. As long as she had him, it was enough.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to say the same.

She rested her head against his chest, murmuring sleepily about listening to his heartbeat when they heard the first scream. She bolted upright and he followed, listening as their eyes scanned the darkened woods. There were more shouts carried on the wind – distant, echoing yet close enough to hear the intensity of their distress.

Isii crawled forward, quickly gathering her clothing. “That’s coming from Alasan’s camp, isn’t it? It has to be.”

Solas was tugging on his breeches as he nodded. “I can only assume so.” She began to curse, her breaths quickening as she shrugged her clothing into place, binding the sash at her waist. A faint scent reached his nose and he breathed deep, his brow furrowing. “I smell smoke.”

Her hands were shaking as she pulled on her leg guards, grabbing her staff. She took off running as he was shifting his tunic into place. “Isii!” She didn’t respond, disappearing into the woods. He armed himself, extinguishing their campfire before tearing after her as fast as his feet would carry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
>  **Elvar’lasan** – untrained, inexperienced (plural). Dalish term to describe someone who has yet to receive their vallaslin. In this context, she’s saying they’re acting like teenagers.  
>  **Banal nadas** – nothing is inevitable.  
>  **Palelan i shem’len uren’barast** – In the crudest terms, he’s calling her a flat-ear fucker. “One who has sex with pointed eared humans.”  
>  **Arlathvhen** \- the gathering of the clans that happens every 10 years among the Dalish. _(Arlathvhenan - plural)_  
>  **Lin’mor’varla** – city-blooded. A non-Dalish elf.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-levels of violence in this chapter, along with strong language.

At first, she was little more than mere flashes of white hair, the outline of her form obscured by the overgrowth that lay between them. Solas quickened his stride, struggling to close the distance. He was fast. He always had been and he had consciously worked at regaining his speed and agility after having slept so long. Even so, it was difficult to match her pace. There was a frantic urgency to how she moved, steps fueled by adrenaline and panic. He did not call out for her again. It was clear she would not slow or respond. Instead, he simply followed, inching closer, bit by bit.

She barely acknowledged him as he pulled up alongside her. He could see she was breathing hard, those breaths shuddering as the sounds of the camp became clearer. Men and women shouted. Children screamed, their tenor denoting pain as well as fear. There was laughter too, though it was far more rare. The perpetrators, no doubt. The scent of smoke thickened the air, heavier with each breath. They came across the first of the refugees, elves fleeing into the darkness. Families, mostly. Parents dragging children to safety. There were no weapons among them. No armor. Solas imagined their warriors would still be within the boundaries of their territory, no doubt scrambling to face the conflict head-on.

As difficult as it was to witness their suffering, he had to put it from his mind. The task at hand was clear. There could be no distractions.

“Kill or capture?”

Isii stirred at the sound of his voice. When her eyes met his, he could see the fullness of her distress. It concerned him, somewhat. It was unlike her. If anything, Isii withdrew from her emotions; hardened herself for battle. He had seen her prepare for combat hundreds of times. He had never seen the face she bore now.

“Just do whatever you must to stop them.” Her words came out in a half-growl. He took note of it, but made no comment.

“If our opponents die, we may never learn the true intent behind this attack,” he pointed out. “This could be an attempt by Allaire to drive them out.”

“You think I haven’t already considered that?”

“If Allaire sent them and we kill them, it will cause an escalation.”

“ _This_ is an escalation,” she snapped.

He kept his tone level. “If we keep them alive, we may be able to use their testimony to our advantage.”

She appeared numbed as she focused on the path ahead, the glow of flames close enough to reflect in her eyes. “Fine,” she said quickly. “Capture them.”

He could feel her tearing roughly at the Veil, her staff raised as the heat of the burning aravels began to sting his eyes. He blinked back the irritant, making a quick assessment of the field. Three men were on horseback, one of whom was charging deeper into the camp while the other two circled back in their direction. All of them were well-armed and wore finely-crafted plate armor. Unlikely attire for simple bandits.

“Go around to the other side of camp,” Isii shouted. “Dismount them. Try to drive them toward the center.” Solas nodded and took off without another word. He could see the sudden flashes of light in his periphery, felt the sizzle of electricity faintly on his skin as she cast, sending whipping arcs of energy into the two men closest to her. The horses shrieked in a panic as their riders were struck, bucking wildly as the men tumbled to the ground, their stiffening limbs unable to maintain their hold. The cry of _“mages!”_ came from somewhere in the distance – a fourth man, unseen. There were probably many more among their numbers that were unaccounted for. This thought gave Solas a moment’s pause. There was a chance she could be overwhelmed if left alone. Perhaps he should stay at her side…

 _No._ Isii was more than capable. He could not let the result of their last fight color his judgement. He was needed elsewhere. 

Solas targeted the third man, chasing after the trail he cut through the camp. He tried not to focus on the chaos around him. Even the madness of a battlefield held some sense of order, but there was no trace of that here. Simply fire and panic, the screams of horses and elves and men, the clash of weapons on metal, on armor, on flesh. There were bodies scattered along the ground, though distinguishing the dead from the dying was impossible as he kept his pursuit. He imagined many of them had been caught moments after waking, rushing from their bedrolls only to meet the edge of a blade. A few were armed – warriors that were likely cut down in their attempts to stop the onslaught.

They did not deserve this fate.

He tightened his grip on his staff, pulling from the Veil and slamming a hard blast of ice into the rider. The force knocked him clean off of his mount, plummeting to the ground where he lay in a lifeless heap. The horse, already spooked by the noise and the flames, fled. Solas jogged over to the man, checking briefly for a pulse. _Unconscious. Not dead. Good._ His eyes lifted as he heard the sound of hooves pounding in a charge. Another human had spotted him, rushing at a full gallop with his sword drawn. Solas lifted himself to his feet, Fade Stepping quickly out of the rider’s path, twisting his staff to prepare for a counter attack even before he stopped moving.

With luck, this would all be over quickly.

***

The first man would not stay down. He recovered from the blast faster than she had anticipated, charging, dual blades at the ready. Isii retreated as best she could, trying to keep some distance between them as she cast, yet he continued to press forward.

_It would be so much easier if I just killed him._

She pushed the thought aside. Solas was right. She should try to keep them alive, if possible. She cast lighting in shortened jolts, enough to stun but not enough to be fatal. She aimed for his sword arm, his knee, weak points that would disarm him and drop him to the ground. She charged forward when his weapon slipped from his grasp, kicking it away quickly as she swung with her staff. The wood made a satisfying crack as it made contact with his jaw, knocking him flat on his back. She closed the distance, jabbing the bladed tip of her weapon between the armor plating around his knee, twisting sharply. The man let out a wailing scream.

 _It won’t kill you,_ she thought. _But that should keep you from getting up again._

The arm wrapping around her chest came as a shock, the fingers curling around her staff, ripping it from her hands, her balance tipping back as she felt the press of something sharp against her side. She twisted her body on reflex, jerking away from the blade as it caught on her clothing, snagging and slashing along her waist. The soldier who came up behind her threw her staff aside and lunged at her again as she staggered away from him, trying not to trip on her own feet _. Idiot._ She’d been so focused on her first target she’d lost sight of the second man she’d dismounted. He swung at her with his dagger but his movements were heavy, stilted. _Probably wounded in the fall._ She dodged, leaping to the side, scrambling to retrieve her fallen weapon. The man pursued, knocking her off of her feet and she stumbled, hitting the ground hard.

He was on her as she crawled forward, flipping her roughly onto her back. She felt his weight come down over her before her mind could process the movement, her body stiffening on reflex, grasping blindly for leverage as a hand went to her throat. He drew back his other arm, blade at the ready, but in that second she didn’t care. The feeling of his hand on her throat alone was enough to make her chest tighten, her stomach lurching. The feel of his grip and the scent of smoke and the sound of the camp being destroyed around her; it drove her, tore a sound from her in a voice that was not her own. It was a feral snarl, teeth bared as she cast a sharp blast, centered in her chest, pressing and lifting him upwards with enough force to knock him back. She was on him, launching herself at him, her fists connecting sharply with his jaw as she sat herself over his body.

“Never touch me again, _shem_!” The word came off of her lips with more venom than it had carried in years. She tried to wrench the dagger from him, her other hand splaying over the man’s face. She stretched her palm across the bridge of his nose, her fingers curling like claws around his forehead as she called upon the secrets of the Mortalitasi that Viuus had taught her.

She poured a wave of terror into her outstretched palm; pressed it into him until he was drowning in it. She could feel his legs kicking behind her, his free hand gripping her arm. His breathing was ragged and he began to shake. _Good._ She wanted him to fear her. She wanted him to be terrified.

_You will never hurt me again._

_You will never hurt anyone again._

She ripped the dagger from his hand, pushing the blade to his throat as he squirmed. Her eyes were stinging. She told herself it was just from the smoke, even as she felt her cheeks growing wet. She tightened her fist around the hilt, breathing heavily. She’d killed dozens of men before and would kill dozens more before this war was over. She could slit his throat and no one else would ever know that she could have spared him. This shem didn’t deserve to live. No man who would come raiding a Dalish camp, slaughtering elves as they sleep and burning their camp to the ground deserved her mercy.

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth before letting out a frustrated grunt. The spell wavered in her hand and the man fell limp beneath her with little more than a childish whimper. Reluctantly, she removed the blade.

Right now she couldn’t be there as a Dalish elf.

She had to be the Inquisitor.

And she hated herself for it.

***

There were not many of them in the end. Only four of the humans were still breathing by the time the fighting stopped - the others killed by the Dalish who had stayed behind. Solas heard a series of sharp whistled calls, the melodies echoed by other lips beyond the edge of the woods. Soon, the camp was a flurry of motion. Elves re-emerged from hiding – not the majority of the camp, but a sizeable number nonetheless. They fell upon the smoldering aravels, trying to put out the flames by whatever means available to them. They probably hoped to salvage what remained, but it was a futile effort. Solas could see that with little more than a simple glance. There was nothing left but the skeletal frames of what once were wagons. Their land ships were gone. Others flocked to their fallen brethren, cries of alarm and pain filling the air - breathless shouts when they found someone they could save and sobs when they did not.

Isii and Solas drew the attention of the clan’s defenders as the pair worked to secure the surviving men in the center of the camp. Three of them were seated in a heap, the fourth still unconscious from his fall. Solas saw no need to revive him just yet. It would have been more practical to tie the men up, but their hosts did not appear to be very accommodating in that regard. It was of little consequence. The men who remained would not be able to flee – not with a growing number of very angry and armed elves surrounding them.

Isii crouched down in front of one of the men as he stared at her, wide-eyed, quivering. Solas could see he was suffering the after effects of a rather concentrated terror spell. It was curious that she chose to use it. It was not often that she called upon the skills the necromancer had taught her. Then again, it was not an unwise method of disabling an opponent using nonlethal methods.

“Why did you attack?” she snapped at the man, a hard edge to her voice. He stared back at her in panic, his mouth moving and yet seemingly unwilling to shape words. Isii’s eyes narrowed and she curled her fingers around the top of his breastplate, tugging his face closer to her own. “Tell me why you did this,” she growled. “Did someone send you?”

“We all know who sent them!” shouted a voice from the crowd, followed by a series of murmurs.

Isii disregarded them, keeping her eyes fixed on the man. “Who?”

His lips trembled, his voice wavering as he struggled to speak. “Lord Allaire. He… he said there were squatters who needed chasing off.”

Indistinct voices rose from the Dalish who gathered around them, sharply muttering their anger. Solas could see the Keeper among their wary faces, the man’s features drawn into a sharp glare.

This didn’t make any sense.

Solas shifted in his stance, his brow lowering in thought. This group of men was far too small, even including the ones the Dalish had managed to kill. If they had intended to drive the Dalish out, why did Allaire not send a stronger force? These men, though well-armed, were too few in number to hope to slaughter the majority of the camp, so extermination could not have been their goal. But then why did they focus so much of their attention on burning the aravels? One does not take the means of transport away from those they wish to see expelled. Why leave their food supply untouched? If they had no reserves, the likelihood that they would leave would have increased.

Perhaps Allaire was a fool. A possible explanation, true, yet Solas could not help but feel that there had to be something more to it. Was he merely testing their defenses? Trying to thin their numbers? The alternative, that he was actively trying to strand them there, made little sense. Did he not want them gone?

“Why do they still breathe?” spat one woman, gesturing with her sword. “They should pay for this with their lives.”

“Wait-”

“Just cut their throats and be done with it,” called another, shouting over Isii’s attempt to object.

“No.” It was Virassan who spoke now, the hunter sneering at the shemlen who sat at the center of an ever-tightening circle. “A quick death is far too good for them.” There was venom in his smile as he glanced to his kinsmen. “Should we show them Fen’Harel’s Teeth?”

Solas didn’t know what that was supposed to refer to, yet the cruel tone of the laughter that followed did nothing to ease his concerns. Seeing the look of horror that suddenly washed over Isii’s features only solidified his understanding that this was a fate worthy of his disapproval. “Hahren, please,” she said quickly, looking to Keeper Senthel. “Let me take these men into my custody. We can see Allaire held accountable if we have their-”

“Accountable to who, exactly?” Fenthon snapped, the young man glaring at her. “Do you think some shemlen judge is going to give a shit about them killing some bloody knife ears?”

“The humans won’t punish them for this,” another called.

“Hahren-” Isii began again but Virassan cut her off, fixing his gaze on the elder.

“Keeper, we should be handling this ourselves,” the archer said. “This shem-lover is only going to hand them over to Allaire and be done with it.”

The accusation broke the thinning façade of control Isii had been clinging to. She snarled at him, her voice quickly lifting in anger. “Believe me, I don’t want these men alive any more than you,” she snapped. “I would kill them myself if I could.”

“Then do it,” Virassan snarled.

She wheeled back to Senthel, her tongue sharpened, each word pointed as it left her lips. “Hand these men over to me and they will be prisoners of the Inquisition. _My_ Inquisition. We have a permanent camp not far from here. I have soldiers stationed who can hold them, who can transfer them to Skyhold. No shemlen will decide their fate. I will _personally_ sit in judgement of them and I swear by the Creators, I will see them face justice,” she growled through her teeth. “The shemlen will see exactly what I will do to those who commit such crimes against our people. Let me make an example of them.”

Solas could see Senthel’s consideration, reluctant though it was. Virassan’s glare tightened. “Keeper, don’t tell me you’re actually considering this?!”

“If these men die here tonight, Allaire could claim it as an act of aggression,” Solas added firmly. “How do you think his kind would react when he tells them of the savage elves squatting in his woods who murdered the emissaries he sent to negotiate with them? Kill them now and there will be nothing to counter that claim, nothing but the word of a bunch of angry elves against his.”

 Virassan glowered, fixing his eyes on Isii. “You should keep your city rat pet silent if you know what’s good for him.”

Isii shouted, enraged. “To the Void with you.”

“Flat-ear fucker,” the archer bit back at her.

“Enough!” Senthel bellowed. Solas watched as the hunter’s insult registered on Isii’s face, though she quickly tried to suppress a reaction. He could still see it in the corners of her eyes, in the way her hands tightened into fists. He wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, a small gesture of reassurance, but he suspected that would only make things worse.

“We will guard these men tonight,” the Keeper said slowly.

“Hahren, you can’t-”

“Suina!” Senthel barked at the younger man, fixing him with a hard look. Virassan sneered and yet said nothing.

The Keeper continued, clearly unhappy with this outcome even as he acquiesced to the demand. “In the morning, the two of you can come to collect them and, with an escort of _our_ choosing, you will take them to this camp of yours.” His eyes lifted to the scattered remnants of his clan. “These men are not to be harmed. If anyone disobeys, trust that I will make them answer for it.”

Reactions were mixed, yet no one voiced their objections any louder than a low mutter. The man looked strained, weary as he spoke. “There’s work to be done, lethallinen. We have a camp to restore. Hunters, patrol the woods. Try to collect those who have yet to make their way back.”

The group began to disperse. Virassan kept his glare fixed on them, even as his fellow hunters began to retreat. He pulled closer to Isii, his voice lowering. “Fen’Harel ver na,” he hissed. The archer spat at her feet before turning and stalking away. Solas could see how her body shook, her anger barely contained as her breaths tightened in her chest.

"Hahren," Solas began, the word feeling bizarre on his tongue. "I can offer my assistance as a healer, if you wish to accept it."

The Keeper’s face was hard, unsympathetic as he turned to face him. “The two of you should leave,” he said, his voice darkening. “We have to collect our dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break between updates.
> 
> Translations:  
> Suina – the verb “to silence”, spoken as a command.  
> Fen’Harel ver na – Dread Wolf take you.  
> Lethallinen – plural for lethallin


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning ahead of time - this is a very emotionally heavy chapter. It deals with trauma and death and personal loss.

“What did he mean by Fen’Harel’s Teeth?”

Isii kept her head down, staring into their campfire. They hadn’t said a word to each other since leaving the charred remains of Clan Alasan’s camp. Solas allowed her her silence. He could see her tension, the way it burned beneath her skin, the way her hands tightened into fists to keep from shaking. As much as he wanted to comfort her, he could see she was in no condition to talk. But the question plagued him. Virassan had threatened to show those shemlen Fen’Harel’s Teeth - a threat that had garnered approval from his fellows, their agreements cast within an undeniably cruel tone. Isii had looked horrified by the suggestion.

He debated whether or not he should ask. In the end, he had to know.

Isii sat with her knees bent, her fingers picking anxiously at her leather shin guards. “It’s a form of punishment,” she said quietly, her voice weighed by defeat. “When shemlen are captured… sometimes they’ll be stripped down. Their hands are bound and…” She paused, ashamed as her brow tensed. “They’re forced into a pair of leggings. Small nails are embedded in the leather…like teeth that tear into them whenever they move.” Her lips drew into a thin line. “They’re given one hundred counts. Then the hunt begins.”

Solas stared at her in disgust. “That’s barbaric,” he snapped, his brow furrowing. To have someone tortured in his name, to have such cruelty celebrated by her people - the thought was beyond repulsive. “Have you-” He stopped himself from asking, not knowing how he could keep himself from being enraged if the truth turned out to be as he feared. But she’d been a hunter. A good one. “Have you ever taken part in one?”

She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing, pained. “Of course not,” she said, frowning. “My clan was never like that. I know of it because of the Arlathvhen, but Lavellan would never do such a thing. Not with Deshanna as our Keeper.”

“Perhaps Clan Alasan is not worth defending.”

Her eyes hardened as she stared at him. “You can’t be serious,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you not see what the shemlen just did to them?”

“What was done tonight was reprehensible,” he said sharply, “but completely avoidable. The Dalish should have left when they had the chance.”

“And would you say the same thing about my clan?” she snapped, her brow lowering. “Should they have been driven out of their home, _my home,_ just because Duke Antoine thought they made for a convenient scapegoat?”

“Those circumstances were different.”

“I really don’t see how they are,” she said, her face slipping into a glare. “It’s the same story, everywhere we go. Eventually, usually without reason, the shemlen decide they don’t want us there anymore. Where are we supposed to go when the humans claim they own every piece of land on this damned continent?” she asked, her voice straining. “Rot in some alienage? Bow down and kiss the feet that keep kicking us into the dirt?”

“Not only does Alasan have no ground to stand on in this dispute, but tonight proved they are far too willing to act like savages,” Solas said quickly. “If we had not intervened, they would have butchered those men. They would have tried to send a message through violence. The need for retaliation alone cannot justify that. There can be no negotiating with elves who choose to behave like the beasts the humans claim you to be.”

She flinched, nostrils flaring. “How dare you-”

“You are letting yourself be blinded by your personal connection to this, vhenan. But you are not one of them. They are not Lavellan. You do not owe them your loyalty. They are nothing like you-”

“And how would you know?” she shouted, pushing herself to her feet. “What, a few hours among them and suddenly you’re a fucking expert? You know _nothing_ about them, Solas. You haven’t lived their life. _I have_. I am of their blood. They are _my people,_ and you have the gall to suggest you understand them better than I do?” He could see he’d struck a chord, her grief and anger from before rising to a fevered pitch. “If you are truly so disgusted with them, _with us,_ then why are you even bothering with me?”

“Because I know you are better than them,” Solas bit back to her. “The Dalish are like children, foolishly scraping together some fantasy of what once was and clinging to it as if it were the truth. As if the lie makes them better for it. I cannot expect more from them than that, but you-”

“You act as if we gave up those truths willingly!” she snapped, her voice lifting. “We were _slaves,_ Solas. Tevinter stole our identities, ripped us away from our history, our culture, even our own language. Can you honestly have no sympathy for that?” Her voice strained thin, close to tears. “You rant to Dorian about slavery in his homeland today and yet you cannot see how that is a part of what shaped _me?_ We freed ourselves from bondage. We survived the Long Walk. We watched our children, our elders, our sick perish along the side of the path, too weak to go on. We struggled and suffered with nothing more than our own blood and sweat to build Halamshiral only for the shemlen to take our home from us all over again. You city elves let yourselves forget, but we _can’t_. Your kind mocks us, dismisses us, says that we’re wallowing in the past as if the things that came before didn’t matter at all. As if the blood that was spilled for our survival was meaningless. Our ancestors didn’t suffer for us to crawl into some hole at the bottom of a shemlen city and forget everything that makes us elven.”

Tears began to fall, but her face remained hardened by resolve. “I thought you of all people would see the value in trying to preserve the past, but I hear _nothing_ but condemnation from you because we do not achieve your standards when we try.” She was shaking, breaths growing ragged, her voice breaking. “To the Void with you, then, if you really think we’re not worth defending.” With that she turned on her heel, storming off and disappearing into their tent.

Solas sat alone by the fire for a time, taking a slow breath before pushing himself to his feet. He followed her, quieted as he pulled the tent open. She laid on her side, curled in on herself, and though her face was hidden he could hear the sharp tremor of her breaths, choked sobs catching in her throat. He crawled beside her, wordlessly wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back against him. She shuddered at his touch and broke, whimpering, her body trembling. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, tucking his face against the back of her neck. He simply held her then, eyes closed as she tightened her grip on his arm, struggling to calm her breathing.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. He waited, but she said nothing. “I never want you to think that I do not value you or the people who shaped the woman you are.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Solas.” Her throat pinched each word. “To see people’s hatred at the mere sight of you. To never have a home of your own for more than a few years before being chased away. To live each day, never knowing when that moment is going to happen, when everything could be taken away from you…” She shuddered again, gulping for breath. “You don’t know what it’s like to see _joy_ on someone’s face as they’re burning down your home… killing your friends… your family…” Her voice broke and she placed her hand over her mouth, shaking hard as he tightened his grip on her.

“Did that happen to you?” he whispered. He felt her nod.

“You said once that Clan Lavellan was unique. That it was unusual that we paid attention to human affairs,” she choked out. “It’s not out of curiosity, Solas. It’s fear.” She paused, trying to catch her breath. “We learned a long time ago that you can’t ignore the shemlen. Not without paying in blood.”

She fell silent then, unable or unwilling to speak. She rolled towards him, burying her face against his chest and he held her, shushing her gently as he smoothed his fingers over strands of her hair. He didn’t pry. He didn’t ask questions or make any demands. He simply allowed her to tuck into his embrace, sobbing against his tunic until exhaustion stilled her tears. He kissed her brow as she lifted her head, her eyes reddened and weary. “It’s late,” he said. “We should get some rest. Dawn will be upon us soon and we have a long day ahead of us.”

“I don’t think I could sleep,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll help you.” He gently pushed errant curls from her face, kissing the dampened trails along her cheeks. She rose for a moment, long enough to peel her armor off. She didn’t bother dressing in her shift, curling up beside him once more. He tucked their furs around her bared skin, drawing her to rest against his chest. He ran his fingers along her temple, playing through strands of her hair as he brushed soothing waves of magic into her. Slowly she drifted off, her breaths soft and muffled, sniffling. In that moment, she looked so small, so much more vulnerable than he was used to. He kissed the top of her head before closing his eyes, trying to steady himself for sleep. It took time to let go of the world, to release the sympathetic ache in his gut that grounded him within his body, but soon emptiness welcomed him.

Consciousness reshaped and took new form beyond the physical. She had been asleep for some time before he regained control of his presence in the Fade. Within moments, he could sense her dreaming, felt the sharp sting of her distress. He followed that sensation, the sickening quality of her fear growing steadily stronger like a toxin in the air as he drew close.

The Fade twisted and warped, taking shape. A dense forest closed in around him, the scent of smoke thickening within his lungs. There were screams, elves running, dodging between the trees, eyes wide and shining in the low light. For a moment, he suspected she was reliving the events of the last few hours until he spotted the child - a girl, skinny and long-limbed, no older than ten or eleven, her braids falling loose among a mop of long white curls. Isii was sprinting toward the glow of flames in the distance, moving against the tide of those fleeing. Solas had no choice but to follow, struggling to keep up. She was fast, panicked, scrambling and leaping over the forest’s debris. She was shouting as she ran, _Bae_ and _Mae_ falling from her lips in shrill cries. Solas tried to call out to her, but she could not hear him, so enveloped by the terror of this recollection that she couldn’t see the Fade for what it was.

He lost sight of her as he reached the edge of their camp. The aravels were alight, flames licking at the low-hanging branches, already starting to spread to the forest beyond. There was fighting all around him. Arrows sang through the air, swords piercing leather, clanging uselessly against steel. There was laughter, loud and cruel and undeniable. A group of armed humans ran through the camp, attacking, looting, shouting encouragements to one another, cheering for each knife-ear they felled.

Solas heard a high-pitched scream, pained and pleading, and he quickened his steps to follow the sound. He found Isii huddled over the body of a woman, tugging sharply on her shoulders, her words indecipherable through her sobbing shrieks. Even at a distance, there was no question who this woman was. The resemblance was far too striking - dark skin and pale hair, eyes that mirrored Isii’s despite their golden hue. They stared blankly now, unblinking as her daughter shook her. She couldn’t have been any older than Isii was now and though not identical, the fact that she looked so similar sent a chill through him.

The swell of her belly made it harder to bear witness.

Solas called to Isii again. She lifted her head and he could see her face, the familiar shape of her features easily recognizable even as a child. Her unmarked cheeks were stained with tears, her green eyes reddened and narrowing into a glare. Her gaze didn’t meet his own but instead focused on a human who struggled to break open a nearby chest. Solas watched the intent grow on her face, her breaths heavy, her grief turning to rage. She threw herself at the shem, shrieking as she leapt onto his back, taking him by surprise. She clawed at his face, clinging to him as he flailed but she was woefully outmatched. He reached back, catching her by the hair and pulling her screaming to the ground. In one quick motion, he had her pinned, held by the throat by a man twice her size. Her legs kicked, heels digging into the dirt, eyes wide as her hands scrambled wildly against his own. Her lips parted, a sickening sound catching in her throat as she struggled to breathe. Solas tried to dispel the dream, to dismantle it, but to no avail. Were it a demon creating this fabrication, there would be a source he could easily attack. But this was not the torment of a spirit twisted from its purpose. This was entirely of her own making and she was far too embedded in it.

“Isii, listen to me!” Solas shouted. “You have to wake up!”

The man spit insults into her face, screaming filth at her that no child should ever have to hear, enraged that she had the gall to attack him. She thrashed, panicked and gasping for air that could not come, her hands pushing to his face, his cheeks, his jaw, trying in vain to move him off of her. A sudden flash blinded them both, a sizzling explosion coming off of her, wild and uncontrolled, arcing from her skin and sinking into her attacker. It knocked him away and she rolled, coughing, hacking, gulping air. Lightning whipped around her, raw and untamed, speeding licks of color and light overwhelming her. From the look of sheer terror on her face, Solas could see what was happening.

This was the night she learned she was a mage.  

The man was stunned for only a moment, gawking at her, his face filled with shock and horror before he sounded the alarm. Eyes turned towards her because of this display, shouts of _“witch”_ and _“mage”_ echoed through the camp. She stood, stunned, terrified as the lightning finally died down, her breaths heavy as she stared wide-eyed at the shemlen who approached her warily. Their words were indistinct, possibly warped by childhood memory, but a few came through clearly:

_“Circle”_

_“Templar.”_

_“Kill it.”_

The man who’d attacked her moved to close the distance, crying out suddenly as a dagger sang through the air, catching him in the arm. He sank to his knees as a figure dashed forward, already pulling out a new set of blades. The elf put himself between Isii and the shemlen, weapons raised, eyes narrowing as his body tensed defensively. He was a tanned-skinned man with sharp features, June’s vallaslin cutting into his cheekbones, his eyes a familiar shade of green. A pile of white hair was tied back high on his crown, the sides shaved short.  

He was clearly injured, cut and bleeding and yet no less threatening. He eyed the men warily, stealing only a single glance down to the terrified girl. His look was one of determined anguish as he hissed a single word.

_“Run.”_

She shook her head. “Bae-”

“Josa, ashalan!” he barked at her, shoving her back. She stared at him, pained and frightened before turning, sprinting into the woods. “Run, Isii! Run like the Dread Wolf has your scent!”

She was sobbing as the woods took her, as the sounds of fighting carried on behind her, as she left her father to his fate. Solas called her name, chasing after her. This had to end. She had to wake up.

She screamed when he reached for her, thrashing as he caught her by the arm. “Isii, look at me.” She clawed at him, slapped, kicked, but he stilled her hands, turning her to face him. “Isii, look at me. Stop. You have to stop this. This isn’t real.”

Her eyes finally met his and he watched as recognition slowly crossed her features. “Solas?”

He cupped her cheeks, kneeling down to her level, looking into the face of the traumatized child. “This is only a dream, vhenan,” he said calmly. “Focus on the present. You are safe. You are with me. Let the nightmare go.”

Soon the vision cracked, fading and falling apart, melting away into nothingness. The child slipped back into the woman he knew, her eyes still wide and wet with tears as she collapsed against him. She cried in broken sobs, so much more lost than before, overwhelmed and lacking all ability to hold back. Emotions were always heightened in the Fade and she felt the full force of them now, her knees buckling, growing heavy in his arms. “I tried to go back for them. I tried… I couldn’t… I should have done something…”

He shushed her, his eyes closing. He soothed her with his touch, brushing fingers through her hair, kissing her brow, wiping away her tears. With the nightmare gone, he could reshape the Fade at will. He reconstructed her quarters at Skyhold - a space that was warm and safe and familiar. She pulled him onto the bed with her, curled herself around him and he let her settle in his arms. He said little, whispering small reassurances as his hands drew circles against her back, her breaths eventually steadying.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long silence.

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I haven’t dreamed about that night in years,” she said softly. “I used to…” She paused, clearing her throat. “I used to have nightmares all the time.”

“Seeing Alasan’s camp in that state must have been difficult for you.” She shuddered, nodding.

“It was too familiar. It brought up a lot of things I…” She stopped, lifting her head to look at him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I was upset about this, about everything else and I... “ She searched for words, uncertain what to say. He cupped her cheek in his hand.

“We will do what we came here for,” he soothed. “We will handle the prisoners. We will meet with Allaire. And once this issue is settled, we will go home. Focus on that.”

She nodded, pressing her face to his chest once more as she wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He held her to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

_I hope you never have to find out, vhenan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were ever curious about the worst night in Isii's life... now you know.
> 
> The practice of "Fen'Harel's Teeth" comes from canon. It's mentioned explicitly in Masked Empire.
> 
> Translations:  
> bae - father, daddy  
> mae - mother, mommy  
> Josa, ashalan - run, daughter


	16. Chapter 16

Daybreak came far too soon. Solas awoke when he felt her stir, quietly trying to slip from his embrace. He tightened his grip, pulling Isii back against him in a firm hug and she stilled, letting out a slow breath, her fingers trailing along his arms. He could read the tension in her body. They had to ready themselves to leave. They had to face the horrors of the previous night once more. Their tent offered sanctuary, but they could not stay there forever. He kissed the back of her shoulder, trailing his lips to her cheek before releasing her. She said nothing, merely giving him a sad and apologetic smile as she pulled away, letting the furs fall aside as she reached for her armor.

Their day began wordlessly. Isii was withdrawn, her face worn from tears and restless sleep. They dressed, eating some of their rations in silence before breaking camp. As they retraced their steps toward Alasan’s encampment, Solas laced his fingers with her own, her hand gripping his tightly. The gesture offered some small reassurance where words could not. He knew now the full extent of how difficult this ordeal was for her. He wanted to make certain she knew she wasn’t alone.

The clan was burying their dead by the time they arrived, worn and broken voices joining together in a joyless song.

_Elvhen na melana sahlin._  
Emma ir abelas.  
Souver’inan isala hamin.  
Vhenan him dor’felas.  
In uthenera na revas.

Her hand slipped from his. Solas glanced down at Isii as she joined their song. Her voice was hushed but there were no more tears - only a hardened and unfeeling mask as she watched over their funerary rites. Small saplings, surely gathered in the early morning hours from the woods around them, were being planted over the fresh mounds of dirt.

There were not enough of them to mark all who had died - a detail she was certain to notice.

_Vir sulahn’nehn._  
Vir dirthera.  
Vir samahl la numan.  
Vir lath sa’vunin.

Solas and Isii kept a respectful distance from the others as the clan slowly disbanded, their ceremony complete. Keeper Senthel approached, his eyes heavy from what had certainly been a sleepless night. His words were brief and tense. “Follow me. Your prisoners are ready, along with the escorts I have selected.”

He led them through the charred remains of their camp. The thriving homestead it had been mere hours ago now hung like a haunting afterimage. Where they had gathered to break bread was now a depository for whatever they could salvage from the debris, stacks of charred supplies piled haphazardly where they had once danced.

The human captives were still bound, their eyes darkened with disdain and discomfort. Four elves watched over them, eagerly rising to their feet as their Keeper approached. Three of them were unfamiliar to Solas - faces he had seen in the crowd and yet had no names for. Two were armed with bows and blades, the third wielding a staff. The fourth was all-too-familiar to him - Virassan. The hunter who had so passionately argued against handing the men over into their custody. The man who had suggested a slow and painful torture as their means of execution. The one who had used his name to curse his vhenan.

Solas fixed the young man with a hard gaze, his jaw clenching tightly.

***

The air was thickened with tension as they sat around their campfire. Their new companions had remained mostly silent during the beginning of their trek, exchanging little more than low murmurings among themselves and avoiding her gaze as they escorted their captives down the long, winding path. When Isii said they should make camp for the night, they offered neither argument nor agreement, but simply went about silently disassembling their packs. They ate wordlessly, gathered together in their own corner of the clearing, watching her with hardened eyes as she gave their prisoners a simple broth to keep their strength up for the journey.

As much as Isii missed the camaraderie they had shared before, she could not blame them for their reticence. They were in mourning. While hours before she had been embraced as one of their kin, she was still an outsider - one who had denied them their own means of justice. She could understand their anger. She tried not to take it personally.

One of the humans glared at her as she knelt down in front of him, leaning in to hold the cup of broth to his lips. “Untie my hands,” he snapped. “I won’t have you feeding me like some invalid.”

“It’s either this or nothing,” Isii said flatly.

“Let him starve if he wants,” Virassan muttered.

The man fixed his gaze on the archer, his face twisting into a sneer. “So how’d you lose the ear, rabbit?” he taunted. “Stealing? Caught fucking someone’s wife?”

“Like I would degrade myself with one of your shemlen whores,” Virassan hissed back at him, his brow creased.

“That’s enough,” Isii snapped, holding up the cup. “Drink. And if you can’t hold your tongue, I’ll have you gagged. Do I make myself clear?”

The man’s face hardened but he said nothing else, resigning himself to allow her to pour the broth past his lips.

***

All but one of their Dalish escorts had retired to their bedrolls by the time Solas seated himself beside her, keeping his voice low as he murmured in her ear. “We should take turns sleeping,” he whispered. “It would probably be best not to leave our grieving companions alone with the prisoners.”

Isii nodded, humming softly to mask her disappointment. She would miss the chance to sleep beside him. All she wanted right now was to curl up in his arms, but he was right. Even though she wanted to believe that these elves would not disobey the orders their Keeper had given them, they had to take precautions. She took a deep breath, rubbing a hand roughly against her face, trying to wipe away some of her fatigue. “I’ll take the first shift,” she said, offering him an apologetic smile. “Go get some rest.”

Solas’s hand lifted for a moment, aimed to cup her cheek as his gaze lowered to her lips. He hesitated, clearly second-guessing himself as his eyes shifted cautiously to the elf who watched them from across the fire. She could see the path of his thoughts, hear the words replayed from the night before - how she had been cursed at for bedding a flat ear. He began to withdraw, seemingly deciding to perform the same level of restraint he had at the camp, attempting to hide what they were to each other. Isii caught his wrist, squeezing gently as she leaned in to give him the soft kiss he had denied himself. Solas stared back at her, puzzled as she drew her thumb along the line of his jaw. “I am not ashamed of you, vhenan,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t act as if I should be.”

His expression softened, a pained and moved look that expressed his appreciation without words as he nodded, slowly pushing himself to his feet.

Isii’s eyes met Virassan’s for only a moment before the elf redirected his glare into the campfire.

The silence between them was uneasy as Solas retreated into the tent. Virassan looked tense, troubled and worn, the firelight flickering over the harsh shadows that danced across his features. When he finally did speak, his voice was low and hard.

“So it’s true,” he muttered. “The two of you.”

Isii hesitated, studying the man. She did not owe him an explanation. Still, she would not let her silence be complicit in supporting the notion that her relationship was somehow disgraceful.

“Ele galinesan vhenanen,” she said firmly.

His eyes lifted, narrowing. “You bonded with a flat ear?”

Technically, the answer was no. They’d had no ceremony to formalize their union - not even a conversation over the nature of their relationship or its permanence. But as she searched for a response, those details didn’t matter. Solas was her mate. Her partner. Her equal. She had every intention of spending the rest of her life with him. She didn’t care if they were not joined in the eyes of her gods or her people. She belonged to him as much as he belonged to her.

“I have his love and respect,” she answered simply. “He does not need vallaslin to earn mine in return.”

Virassan’s eyes dropped once more, his lips drawn into a thin line. Isii didn’t need his approval. To the Void with him if he judged her or pitied her or saw her as somehow lesser for loving a common city elf. Even so, his expression seemed to soften somewhat as he shook his head.

“The way I cursed at you last night,” he began haltingly, his gaze still set upon the fire. “I was angry. I still am. A lot of good people died. You’re wrong to let these men live. But you didn’t deserve that. You and your… _friend_ … helped stop them before they could do any more damage. For that, at least, you deserved better.”

Isii’s brow tensed, giving a pitying look of empathy as she spoke. “I know what you’re going through,” she murmured. “I know how it feels to be attacked. To have your loved ones killed. When I was a child… my clan was nearly wiped out. Our possessions were ransacked and burned. Many died. My parents among them. And my brother...or sister… I never got the chance to find out which.” His eyes lifted but she couldn’t meet his gaze, the words feeling thick on her tongue. “It took me a long time to deal with my anger. I blamed them all, all of the shemlen, and I hated them for what happened to me. If it wasn’t for my Keeper…” The tightness of her throat caused her to pause, swallowing hard. “The pain is hard to accept. It’s hard to live with. But violence won’t change anything. It won’t bring back your dead. It will only keep the cycle of bloodshed spinning until no one is left alive to keep fighting.”

“And if you could find the men responsible for attacking your clan - if they were dragged before you, if they were at your mercy - would you kill them?”

“Yes,” she admitted in a hushed voice. “I would. And part of me would probably enjoy it.”

“And yet you would deny us that?”

Isii took a measured breath, nodding. “Yes. My mission was to negotiate a deal so that your clan could live here in peace. Allaire’s actions have made that all-but-impossible now. The best I can hope for is the chance to bring him to justice for what he’s done to our people. And in order to do that, I need proof. My word as Inquisitor carries weight, but it’s not enough. I’m still Dalish and he is an Orlesian noble. I need to keep these men alive. I need their testimony - and I will get it, by any means necessary.”

“Do you truly believe that the other shemlen will hold one of their own nobles accountable for attacking a group of knife ears?” he asked bitterly.

“I do,” she said.

“Then maybe your time with the shemlen have blinded you more than you think, lethallan,” he spat, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what world you’ve been living in, in your castle tucked away in some distant mountain, but here, in the _real_ world - you could be one of the corpses we buried this morning. And if it weren’t for that mark on your hand, no one but the Dalish would care. Not your soldiers. Not your flat-eared lover. They wouldn’t mourn you. They wouldn’t even notice. We are _nothing_ to them. And they deserve nothing but our contempt.”

“I understand your anger-”

“Do you?” Virassan snapped. “Do you know why I’m missing an ear? Why I have these scars on my face?” he asked, his head tilting. “I was escorting two apprentices on a hunt when a group of humans found us. They gave chase. I knew we couldn’t outrun them, so I told the younger ones to run and baited the shems into following me so they could get away. When they caught me, they beat me bloody. Told me I was a poacher, but it was clear they didn’t need a reason to attack me. They held me down, sliced off my ear and _laughed_ when I screamed,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “They left me for dead. And if by some miracle I survived, they told me my missing ear would leave me marked - so that if any other shelmen caught me, they’d know I was a criminal who didn’t deserve their mercy.” He paused then, his body tense as he stared at her. “ _That_ is the world we live in. Take these men, get them to testify, lock Allaire up in some dark hole where he’ll never see the light of day again - it won’t make any difference. There will always be others to take his place. These men spilled our blood and they should pay with theirs.”

“The prisoners will stay alive for as long as I need them to be. That is not up for debate,” Isii said, lifting her chin. “Your Keeper sent you here to make certain that they arrive at my encampment in one piece.” She hardened her gaze, her tone flattening. “Do we understand one another?”

Virassan’s glare sharpened, the side of his neck tensing as he gave a stiff nod. “Perfectly,” he muttered, unable to mask the hint of danger in his tone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this update took _forever_. I am so sorry for the delays. Thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> The song they sing in eulogy is In Uthenera, with minor changes to the lyrics. 
> 
> _Elves your time is come._  
>  Now I am filled with sorrow.  
> Weary eyes need resting.  
> Heart has become grey and slow.  
> In waking sleep is freedom.  
> We sing, rejoice.  
> We tell the tales.  
> We laugh and cry.  
> We love one more day. 
> 
> Ele galinesan vhenanen - We are each other’s hearts.


End file.
